


Rusty Cage

by imaginationtherapy



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood Magic, Dadsday, Dark, Dev and Peter are BFFs, Endeavour Morse Whump, Endeavour is a Thursday, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Fanfiction, Magical Realism, Morse is a self sacrificial idiot, Morse is willing to die to protect his people, Needles, Pain, See notes at end of fic for more info, Sort of? - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Whump, Whumptober, graphic depictions of pain, magical torture, not great medical procedures, there's a lot of angst and a lot of hurt but there will be a lot of comfort i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 62,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21033488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: Endeavour Thursday is the Captain of the Guard--a magical police force. He's also DI Fred Thursday's eldest son, and Sergeant Peter Jakes' best friend. None of this means his life is safe, or easy. So none of them really should have been surprised when he was kidnapped.Neither should his captors have been surprised that he wouldfightto protect his family.





	1. Hit Me With a Hand of Broken Nails

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mud_Lark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mud_Lark/gifts), [Hekate1308](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Ship In Which You Sail](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17949842) by [Hekate1308](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308). 
  * Inspired by [The Bargain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859167) by [Mud_Lark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mud_Lark/pseuds/Mud_Lark). 

> What is this disaster of a fic? Well, it's the bastard child of [ The Bargain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859167/chapters/49582541) and a bizarre dream that I had. It's also the adopted child of [ The Ship In Which You Sail](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17949842/chapters/42391064) (if you haven't read that masterpiece...you kinda need to. It gives necessary background to the characters and world in which I'm working. Plus, its an _ amazing_ story.)
> 
> Warnings: This is...very dark. Much darker than my usual. There is much pain, and rather graphic descriptions of pain (some of which is 100% me projecting chronic pain issues). I'm personally in a dark spot right now, and apparently dark writing is an outlet. I suppose there are worse things. Its also oddly Spooky...apparently my contribution to Whumptober.
> 
> This is also unbeta'd, probably rushed, and I have no idea what my posting schedule is. School is killing me right now.
> 
> I have no excuses. Or explanations. You have been warned.
> 
> To Hekate1308, I hope I can do your wonderful AU justice.  
To Mud_Lark, I join you in the gothic disaster fics.

_ He should have known it wouldn’t last. He should have known that he couldn’t just rest, couldn’t just enjoy having his family, his whole life back. But hope--even a hope as shattered and painful as it had been--hope had been what kept him going for 15 years. And as Endeavour Thursday lay there, pain washing over him in nauseating waves, feeling his lifeblood drain from his body, knowing that no one even knew he was gone, hope was all he had. _

_ Hope that his father would somehow guess, that Peter would pick up something, that Joanie could see through the shimmer. Hope that his desperate ploy had worked, that they had seen. _

_ Hope that he could survive this. That his body could hang on, that they wouldn’t hurt him anymore, that he could stay strong. Hope that he could live up to his title, Captain of the Guard. _

_ With each drop of blood that left him, though, he could feel that hope growing smaller. _

_ He didn’t know how much longer he could hang on. _

* * *

DI Fred Thursday cursed as Sergeant Jakes sped through the growing darkness. It wasn’t enough that they had tried to steal his son away from him--_ had stolen him _ \--for fifteen years. They had to try again, to come back, to take him away _ one more time_. Fred had tried not to let the fears get to him, as Dev had considered the Chairman’s offer. Tried not to worry about what might happen to the boy if he accepted the promotion. 

Jakes had worried, he knew, and Jakes had hounded Dev about being careful. Dev had slapped their concerns away as if they were nothing. Thursday was proud of his son, proud of the confidence with which he carried himself. He knew it was earned, knew the boy had gone through more in his short life than he ever should have. But still, Thursday worried; still, Jakes watched his back.

Fat lot of good it had done them.

Dev had been missing for a week. He’d vanished one night, out as the Captain--out _ alone_. Barely any news had reached them since that night, just occasional blood-soaked bits of clothing and vaguely worded threats. None of it made any sense. The entire Guard had been deployed to find their Captain, all to no avail. Until tonight. They had slipped up--whoever _ they _ were--and Jakes had caught something. Not much, but it was enough to give them a location. 

The closing of the day found them speeding across Oxford, klaxon’s ringing as at least half a dozen cars sped down the sleepy streets. Stealth didn’t matter; speed did. All that they had gathered suggested Dev was dying--the blood, the notes--wherever he was, they had little time to reach him.

But they would reach him. Fred wouldn’t let him down again. Not this time. Not his son, god _ damn _ it, not his _ son. _

* * *

The building was old, old enough that even Fred could feel the magic. It was a cold, malicious feeling, one that ate away at your bones. The idea that Dev had been kept here-- had been trapped here, was _ dying _ here--it felt like a bullet burying itself into his chest. _ His son_. 

Jakes looked no better. His hair was unkempt, and his shirt wrinkled. Thursday had never seen him this much of a wreck, not even during the Blenheim Vale disaster. Jakes had hardly slept this week, and Thursday knew he was blaming himself for Dev’s disappearance. It wasn’t any of their faults, and Thursday knew that. They could no more force Dev to _ listen _ and _ be safe _ than they could take the magic from his veins. 

They spread out through the house, one member of the Guard for each five coppers. The had no idea if the threat against Dev had come from his enemies within the magical community or the regular criminal class, and they could take no chances. 

It almost felt too easy, too simple, when they stumbled into a small room at the back of the building. Thursday pushed those instincts away, because there was nothing _ easy _ about the way his son lay motionless at the back of the room. There was nothing _ simple _ about the blood that stained his clothes and turned the stones dark and slick. And there was nothing-- _ nothing _ \-- more important to Thursday than getting to Dev. The _ who _ and the _ why _ and the _ how _ could wait. He simply needed to gather his boy in his arms, hold him close, make sure he was _ alive_.

Thursday surged forwards, ignoring the sob that escaped his lips. He fought against the hands that held him back, snarled at the man who stepped in front of him. That was _ his son _ over there, lying in the corner, covered in blood. How _ dare _ they try to keep him back. How _ dare _ they tell him to wait. 

“Thursday! Fred--_ sir! _ ” Thursday’s eyes finally focused on Jakes. The man looked frantic, his hands held up in a pleading fashion. “Sir, you _ can’t_. We don’t know...we don’t know what’s in this room. You _ can’t.” _ The words sounded choked, and Thursday could see moisture glimmering in Jakes’ eyes. “It could kill him. _ Please,_ sir.”

Thursday backed away, eyes wide with horror. He knew Jakes was right, he knew that. They had to check for wards, spells, traps. This could be a ruse. If they rushed in too quickly they could injure themselves or even Dev. But _ that was his son_. _ God. Endeavour. _

Fred clenched his fists at his sides. Nothing he’d been through could compare to this. When Dev had been hurt before--knifed, shot, beaten--he had just been _ Morse_, his bagman. He had cared, of course he had. But he hadn’t known, hadn’t remembered. He had cared--the same way he had for Mickey Carter. 

Carter’s death was nothing compared to this fear, this deep seated pain that ate at his bones, dissolved his heart like acid. His coppers’ instincts hadn’t prepared him for this, for the sight of his first born lying so still, so pale, so _ broken_, just beyond his reach.

He could _ feel _ his son calling out for him--as if his magic were searching for him, trying to draw Fred closer. _ Help me, dad. Please. Help me! Don’t leave me here. _ The words cut into his soul, made him weak in the knees. He needed to get there, needed to touch his son, needed to save him.

_ Hurry_.

* * *

_They were there. He could feel them. Peter’s magic, searching for him. His father’s presence. His father’s worry. They were trying to get to him, calling out for him, trying to rouse him. He knew they were there, just beyond the edges of his pain, just beyond the blood and the rot and the darkness._

_But he couldn’t see them. And he knew-- he knew --they couldn’t reach him. They’d never be able to find him here. God, he wanted them. Wanted to curl into his father’s arms, like he had as a boy. Wanted his dad to chase away the monsters one more time. Wanted the pain to stop. He had not the strength to do it himself. He needed Peter to pull him out of this pit of pain and despair and wretchedness. He needed a friendly touch, not one that scalded him._

_It wouldn’t come. He knew that. He knew they couldn’t reach him. And yet he hoped._

* * *

They let him through, finally. Jakes signaled that the room was clear, and Thursday found himself crashing to his knees at Dev’s side. His hands fluttered uselessly over his son’s body, trying to make sense of the blood and the torn clothing and the dirt. He felt frozen, all of his training useless as he stared at the immobile form in front of him.

_ Not Dev. Not his Endeavour. Please… _

Jakes’ steady hands slipped under Thursday’s useless ones. Nimble fingers found their place at Dev’s throat. Jakes’ shoulders sagged, but it was relief that flooded his face.

“He’s alive. He’s still alive, sir.”

Thursday gasped, not knowing when he had last tried to breathe. 

Jakes glanced at him, then back down to Dev. “He’s cold, sir. Too cold.” He wrapped his hand around Thursday’s, guiding it down to Dev’s shoulder. “Hold him close. He needs...he needs to know you’re here. I’ll get the medics.” 

Thursday needed no further urging. He hadn’t wanted to hurt the boy, too afraid of causing more damage. But Jakes...Jakes knew things with a certainty that came from a different set of skills, and Thursday had learned to trust him in the past months. If he said this was what Dev needed, then Thursday would never let him go.

He slid his arms gently under his son’s shoulders, biting back the fear that flashed through him at the way the boy’s head rolled limply back. He pulled Dev to his chest, wrapping his coat around those frail shoulders. He cursed them, whoever they were, for the blood that slicked his hands.

Thursday held Dev in his arms, held him close, vowed he wouldn’t let him go again, not until he was well. Maybe not even then. He brushed back dirty auburn hair from his son’s face, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could take Dev’s place. It should be him, not Dev. Never Dev. He deserved none of this, none of the pain and the cold and the fear.

Thursday forced himself to breathe, forced his heart to stop its rapid beating. Dev was safe, that was what mattered now. They could get him out of here, out of this rotten building and far away from the pain and the darkness that seemed to permeate the air. He would heal--he had too. He would heal, and then Thursday would find who had done this and he would _ make them pay_.

Yet something, somehow, seemed off. Suspicion niggled at the back of his mind, just under the relief and anger. Thursday couldn’t shake the feeling that Dev was still in danger, still in pain, still lost to him. Even as the medics loaded him into the ambulance, even as they wiped the blood from his face, even as his eyes fluttered ever so slightly with returning consciousness, Thursday felt that something was wrong.


	2. You Tied My Lead and Pulled My Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for needles and blood and pain and....yeah.

_ Endeavour hadn’t expected the blow to the back of his head. Nor had he expected the white haired, towering figure of Zorander to have been his attacker. The wizard was insane; the entire Guard knew to be wary of him. He’d been a member of the Army of Morality once, before splitting and becoming a renegade with his own agenda. He rarely crossed paths with the Guard, managing to stay just beneath their radar. _

_ Yet there he was, grinning down at the incapacitated Captain of the Guard. His feral eyes--that seemed to glow an eerie purple--were the last thing that Endeavour saw before darkness took him. _

* * *

_ As he struggled back to consciousness, Endeavour could feel the hex bag that muted his powers, kept him from reaching out to his magic. He could feel cold, steely fingers that held him in place. He could see the hungry look in Zorander’s eyes. And he could hear the spell that Zorander was muttering. _

_ Horror washed over him as the reality of Zorander’s plan became clear. He glanced to the slim young man next to Zorander, dressed in an ill-fitting, cheap suit. His eyes took in the tray of surgical equipment--needles and plastic tubing and blood bags. _

_ No. _

_ No, no no! _

_ He knew what they wanted. He knew what they were going to do. He had to stop them. By any means possible. He couldn’t let them do this. _

_ Dev’s eyes flicked around the room. It was cold and damp, the walls made of ancient, moss-covered stones. It smelled of rot and death. He struggled against the hands that held him, testing their strength. _

_ “Stay still,” a woman’s voice hissed. Her long nails dug into his skin. They were painted black and sharp as razors. Whoever she was, she was stronger than him. _

_ But maybe...just maybe, if he played his cards just right...maybe he could use her strength to his advantage. _

_ Endeavour let out a gasp of pain at the sharp sting of her nails. He felt her laugh behind him, and forced himself not to grin; step one. Endeavour sagged in her grip, bowing his head as if in defeat. He flinched from Zorander’s footsteps, glancing fearfully at the needle in the wizard’s hands.  _

_ He waited, counting the steps, calculating when to make his move. When Zorander was only two steps away, a leering grin on his face, Dev violently twisted his hands in his captor’s grip. The woman gasped, her grip loosening for a fraction of a second. It was enough: Dev was able to move just enough to grab onto her arms. Using her as leverage, Dev kicked upwards, landing one foot on Zorander’s jaw. The wizard staggered backwards with a howl, and Dev grinned. _

_ He twisted again, wrenching his hands free from the woman’s grasp. He spun, lashing out with his foot. She flew into the wall, her pale skin flickering with anger. The other man--Keinan, Dev managed to remember-- rushed forward, a wicked looking dagger in his hand. Morse ducked at the last minute, sending Keinan staggering into the low cot behind him. _

_ Zorander rushed him again with an enraged howl, shock flashing in his eyes. Dev grinned at him.  _

_ “Not so easy after all, eh?” Dev taunted. He owed Peter a drink if he ever got out of this. _

_ It was Peter who had insisted that Dev learn how to defend himself--without magic. Endeavour hadn’t wanted to learn, didn’t like fighting with fists and guns. It was crude and inelegant, a brutish way to solve problems. But Peter had been right, the skill had come in handy. And with time, Endeavour had learned to fight with a cat-like grace, turning blunt knuckles and heavy blows into something akin to a dangerous dance. He knew what he was doing. He could handle himself physically almost as well as he could handle his magic. _

_ The only problem was that Zorander outweighed him. And he was outnumbered. And the woman--Alabaster, he heard Zorander call her--was fast. _

_ He had almost made it to the door, almost overcome the glancing blows that Zorander managed to land, when Alabaster’s staff struck him just beneath his ribs. The blow knocked the air from his lungs. He bent over, gasping uselessly. She swung her staff again, and it crashed into Endeavour’s shoulders, knocking him to the ground. He lay there, desperately trying to get his lungs to work. A sharp kick to his ribs sent him rolling across the floor. Another kick landed, and then another. He felt the world beginning to go black. He couldn’t get any air, not when that heavy boot kept landing right in his ribs.  _

* * *

_ When consciousness stabbed into his skull again, he could feel Alabaster’s ice-cold fingers digging into his shoulders. He struggled against her hands, trying not to gasp at the stabbing in his ribs. Long fingers buried themselves in his hair, yanking his head back at a painful angle. He hissed at the pain, glaring at Zorander as he approached. _

_ “You can’t kill me,” Endeavour growled. “Your spell would never work.” He jerked against the hands that held him. He wouldn’t make this easy for them. He would fight them every step of the way. There were really only two ways out of this, and he would gladly take either one. They wouldn’t get away with this. Not on his watch. _

_ Zorander smiled; it was a cold, ugly thing. “No, I suppose I can’t.” He flicked his wrist, and Endeavour cried out as white-hot pain flared in his side. “But I can make you burn from the inside out.” _

_ Another flick and more pain lanced through Endeavour. He tried to curl in on himself, to stop the pain, but those heavy hands held him fast with a bruising grip. _

_ Zorander approached him, a cruel glint in his eyes. He wrapped his fingers around Endeavour’s throat. Endeavour let out a strangled sound as those fingers connected with his skin. They were red hot and ice cold at the same time and they hurt. _

_ “I don’t have to kill you, my dear Endeavour.” The man pulled his hand away. He canted his head, studying Endeavour. “I just have to break your spirit.” He trailed one hand in a burning almost-caress down Endeavour’s face. _

_ Dev flinched from the touch, trying to escape the awful sensation that seemed to shear his nerves in half. He was trembling, the shock of the pain nearly overwhelming his body. But still he fought. _

_ “They tried…” he rasped; the burning icicles had worked their way to his throat. “For fifteen years.” Endeavour swallowed, wincing again. “You’ve got nothing...nothing on them.” _

_ The man sneered. “You have a lot to learn, Endeavour Thursday.” He turned away. The flick of his wrist was the last thing that Endeavour saw before the pain washed over him again, dragging him into a sea of darkness. _

* * *

_ When he woke, they’d strapped him to a hard, uncomfortable bed. There was a needle in his arm, and a searing pain up his shoulder. Zorander stood over him, a horrific smile splitting his face. In his hands, he held a bag full of shimmering red liquid.  _

_ Dev cursed at him, twisting against the bonds that held him. That was his blood, it belonged to him. They had no  _ _ right _ _ . _

_ Zorander merely flicked his wrist again, and Dev felt the pain rip through him. He tried to hold back his scream, but he knew it was useless.  _

_ He tried to breathe, tried to calm his racing heart as Zorander ruthlessly ripped the needle from his arm. He tried not to watch as the spell took hold, as their plan went from insanity to reality. He cursed them as they left the room, cursed his own weakness, cursed Kienan’s desperate need for revenge. _

_ And then he gritted his teeth against the pain. Because he would not give up. He would fight them, every time they came near. He would fight them until he had no fight left. He couldn’t let this happen, couldn’t let them steal his soul, couldn’t let that...that creature walk around in his body. Couldn’t let that monster be the last thing that his father remembered. Couldn’t let that betrayal be what killed Peter. He would fight them, and he would win. _

_ Because either he would escape, or they would be forced to kill him. _

_ And he would die before he let  _ _ this _ _ happen. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Comments? please? :)


	3. Too Dark to Sleep Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hospital is the safest place for Dev as they try to work out what happened while he was gone.  
Mixed POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morse's POV is in italics.

The doctors had whisked Endeavour away, hiding him behind steel doors and white curtains as soon as the ambulance had pulled up to the hospital. Thursday hadn’t wanted to let his son go, hadn’t wanted the boy to vanish from his sight. He was afraid--and for once, he was willing to admit to his fear.

None of this made sense, none of it matched any plan, and the lack of something solid to rage against made Thursday’s skin crawl. Morse had been alone in that room. Alone and unbound. Someone had just...left him there. Not knowing who, or why, or _ what they had done to him _...it left Thursday afraid that the boy might shatter under the doctors’ touch.

Jakes had had to hold him back, practically shouting at him to let the doctors work. Thursday had turned on him, fierce protectiveness flaring into something dark and ugly. The stricken look on Jakes’ face had stopped him. Jakes wasn’t even looking at Thursday, even as he tried to restrain his DI. His eyes were locked on the still form being wheeled away, grief written in every inch of his pale face. 

Thursday had folded, then, slumping into the wall and burying his face in his hands. They’d stayed there like that, huddled in the darkness, just breathing. 

* * *

Thursday stared at his son’s pale face--sickly white against the unblemished sterility of the hospital sheets. There were bruises on his face--evidence of a beating. The doctors had found a few deep gashes on his torso--apparently the source of much of the blood. The worst, though--worse for its implications, its strangeness, its _ wrongness _\-- were the needle marks in the crook of his son’s arm. 

Someone had fed an IV line into Endeavour, and they didn’t know why.

Thursday held his son’s hand in his, watching the boy’s face and listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. The doctors had taken blood and whisked it away for testing. Whatever...whatever they had done to Dev, the doctors would find out. Thursday just had to trust them.

That trust didn’t come easily to him. There were too many unknowns, and the more questions that were raised, the more uneasy Thursday felt. They had no answers, and the longer they waited, the more danger Dev might be in. There were any number of poisons and toxins they could have put in his bloodstream--any number of horrors that could await them in the next few hours. 

He had phoned Win, had talked with her for a few minutes. She wanted to come, of course she did. He could hear Joanie and Sam clamouring in the background, demanding to know about their brother. He told them as little as he could, lied as much as he felt he could get away with. _ Needs rest, too dangerous, stay home _.

It hurt him, keeping them away. He knew Win needed to see Dev as badly as he did, knew that Dev needed his mother. But until they knew...until they knew what this was...he couldn’t let them in here. 

* * *

Dev woke fully somewhere around midnight. He lurched upright, crying out and fighting weakly against the nurses’ hands. He only calmed when he heard Fred’s voice calling to him.

“Endeavour, _ son _ , it’s me--” Thursday’s hands had gripped Endeavour by the shoulders, but still the boy fought. “It’s your _ father_, Dev. Please, lad, calm down!”

Dev had gone still, staring up at his father for a long moment before crumpling forwards with a pitiful wail.

Thursday sat there, hunched in that hospital bed, holding his son until the boy stopped trembling. He ran his hands up and down Dev’s back, rubbing soothing circles against the rough fabric of his hospital gown. Platitudes and whispers of _ you’re safe _ seemed too easy, but he said them anyhow. Repeated them over and over until he believed them himself, until Dev’s shoulders stopped heaving, until his breathing calmed.

An hour or so later, Jakes returned from briefing both Bright and the Chairman of the Guard. He froze in the doorway, staring at Endeavour with wide eyes.

“Dev,” he breathed. “Dev, are you _ alright_?”

Dev nodded, just barely. Jakes’ shoulders heaved once as he sucked in air, and then he was dashing across the room. He reached out to Dev, wrapping the man in a hug.

“God, _ Endeavour_, don’t do this.” 

Dev stiffened for a moment, and Thursday saw Jakes freeze as well. Confusion flickered across Jakes’ face--confusion that vanished so quickly that Thursday assumed he had imagined it. Jakes pulled back, running his hands down Dev’s arms. 

“You’re alright.” Jakes took in a deep breath. “You’re alright.”

Dev gave him a weak smile. “I’m okay.” He repeated the words as if he barely believed them himself.

* * *

Dev told his story, halting and slow, after they’d finally convinced him to eat something. There was fear evident in the way his eyes flitted around the room and the stiff way he held his body. Jakes stood by his side, one hand on Dev’s shoulder and the other fiddling with the butt of his gun. Thursday refused to let go of his son’s hand.

They’d beaten him, obviously, demanding to know secrets about the guard. He had tried to escape--twice--but had been met with the sharp end of a knife. He’d tried though; he had fought and he had almost won--Peter had grinned at that. _ Good thing I had you take up fistfighting, eh? _

As near as Dev could ascertain from bits that he had heard, the notes and blood-soaked cloth had been meant to rattle the CID and the Guard as well. The bastards meant to frighten the Guard, taunting them with their ability to take and hold their Captain. They’d meant for him to die in that room, leaving him helpless and bloody and weak. Thursday gripped Dev’s hand harder at the way his voice broke there.

The needle marks in his had come from a blood transfusion. The fiends--for Fred Thursday refused to think of them as anything else--had stolen his blood. Why, though, was as much a mystery to Dev as it was to the doctors. The men who had held him didn’t tell him why they needed it. They’d just held him down and stabbed a needle in him. He had wondered if they were connected to a rather unruly sect of vampires the Guard had been chasing for a while. Jakes nodded and raised an eyebrow at another member of the Guard who stood lurking in the corner.

“We’ll check into it.” Jakes murmured. He smiled down at his Captain--but it was a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “You get some rest, Dev.” His eyes flicked up to Thursday. “We’ll have a man on his room, and two at the entrance to the ward.”   
Thursday nodded wearily. “Win will want to come in as soon as day breaks.”

“Bright and the Chairman assigned guards to them,” Jakes reported. 

Dev glanced up at him in surprise. “Why?”

“We don’t know why they took you, Dev.” Jakes rubbed his hand on Morse’s shoulder. That peculiar expression flickered across his face again. “The Chairman wants to make sure they don’t try for anyone else.”

Dev’s lips quirked in acknowledgment. “I...I guess I’m just...tired.”

“Sleep, Dev,” Jakes urged. There was an uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Dev’s eyes flicked to Thursday, and then to the door.

“I’m not leaving you, son.” Thursday tightened his grip on Dev’s hand. “Not tonight.”

Jakes gave Dev one last smile before slipping out the door. He watched them for a moment longer--watched the way Dev melted backwards into the bed, watched the relief on Thursday’s face, watched the peace that settled between the two of them.

Then he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway. _ Suspicious bastard, _ he cursed at himself. _ He’s safe, and that’s all that matters_.

* * *

_ The second time Zorander came at him with that needle, he had managed to tear one arm free. He landed one good hit before Alabaster’s nails bit into his arm. They felt like acid on his skin, burning and flaring and setting him aflame. He hadn’t screamed then, wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. He had merely cursed them both, calling on his magic even though he knew it was useless. _

_ The more he fought, the harder they had to restrain him. The more he bruised his own skin, the greater the chance that someone would notice. _

_ If he fought hard enough--if he kicked and screamed and bit at them--maybe they would go too far. Maybe he could stop this. He didn’t want to--didn’t want to leave his father alone, his mother with that grief. He didn’t want to leave the Guard--but he knew Peter would take over for him. They would be okay. _

_ He would win. He wouldn’t give up. _

* * *

_ The third time he awoke, it was to the sharp feel of a knife slicing into his side. It surprised him, the sharp sting of metal. He heard himself cry out, and then he heard his voice echo in the room. The sound of it--the anguish and the fear--it sent chills down his spine. He cursed at Zorander again, pulled against his restraints and tried to get to the man. He had to stop them. _

_ Another slash stole the breath from him. He fell backwards on the bed, gasping for air. Every nerve in his body begged him to wrap his arms around the wound, to curl into a ball, to get as far away from the pain as he could. But he was trapped--arms and legs and chest bound. He couldn’t get away. _

_ Not that it would have mattered much. _

_ The heavy thud of a fist hitting flesh was his only warning before pain bloomed in his cheek. His head jerked away, even though he knew it was useless. He wondered--for just a moment--at Zorander’s cruelty. They could have done this before they’d stolen his blood. God damn it-- they could have put this piece of their plan into action _ _ before _ _ . Then the fist slammed home again and he had not more energy for coherent thought. _

_ Again and again the hits came. Again and again he cried out. Again and again he heard that echo against the cold stone. _

* * *

DeBryn met Jakes in the mortuary early the next morning. He eyed Jakes warily.

“Why did you ask me this, sergeant?”

Jakes didn’t waver under that hard stare. “We have to keep him safe.” His voice was steady and he refused to flinch.

He knew the governor would have his head for going behind his back. He knew DeBryn could easily report him for insubordination. He didn’t care. His loyalty was to the Guard first--no, to _ Dev _ first. The CID and the Guard could be damned for all he cared. If Dev was in trouble--if there was any chance that he was still in danger--Jakes had to know.

DeBryn held his gaze for a moment longer. Then he sighed. It seemed as if his whole body wilted. “I looked at his labs. It doesn’t add up.”

Jakes stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“He said they took four units?”

Jakes nodded. He didn’t understand this medical jargon; it was why he had been forced to seek DeBryn’s help. He couldn’t go to DI Thursday, not with something as vague and elusive as _ a hunch_. Hell, he didn’t believe in _ hunches _ himself. Blind luck, maybe. 

Debryn pursed his lips. “The numbers don’t match up. With the blood that was on his clothes, and the blood that he says they took…” DeBryn shook his head. “He should be in much worse shape, Sergeant.”

“What do you mean?”

“He should be weaker!” DeBryn rounded on Jakes, uncharacteristic anger flashing in his eyes. “He should be weaker. He’s recovering too quickly. Almost as if…”

“Doctor?”

“You said he thought vampires could be involved?” 

Jakes stiffened. _ God no. _ “Could he have been turned?”

DeBryn shrugged. “I don’t know enough about any of this. But something isn’t adding up.” DeBryn’s eyes were dark and hooded. “I’ve managed to nip a vial of his blood. I’ll see what I can do.”

Jakes nodded, trying to ignore the fear that was racing in his mind. “Thanks, Doctor.”

“Don’t thank me, Sergeant.” DeBryn’s tone was crisp. “I don’t like going behind their backs. If Morse--Dev--_ the Captain _ has had something done to him, he should know.”

Jakes nodded. He knew, damn it, he knew that. But something had felt off when he’d finally rested his hand on Dev’s shoulder. It was as if Dev’s magic had recoiled from him--or his from Dev’s. “I know, Doctor. And as soon...as soon as we know something, we will tell them.”

DeBryn raised his eyebrows. “I’m trusting in your loyalty to him, Sergeant. Don’t make me regret this.”

“I’ll take responsibility. I promise.” Jakes turned away from DeBryn. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked down the hall.

They had Dev back. The _ had him_, safe and sound. 

Why couldn’t he just _ believe _ that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah-hah! The plot thickens!


	4. When the Forest Burns Along the Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred Thursday hoped that he would never in his life have to see the way his wife shattered when she finally caught sight of their son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am blown away by the response I'm getting. I honestly didn't expect anyone to read this, let alone get this excited about it. I'm so happy that you guys are enjoying it, and that totally has motivated me to work more on the plot. *evil laughter*

_ He was stronger than them. He knew that, knew it deep in his bones. He just had to fight through the haze of pain and the dizzy feeling of blood loss. If the would just leave him be...if he could just hang on to one single thread of thought, he could work around this. The hex bag wasn’t strong--not strong enough for him if he was at his full powers. Not strong enough for him if Zorander wasn’t there with his burning fingers and invisible shards of glass. _

_ He just had to focus. Clear his mind. Get rid of the pain...somehow. He _had to.

_ The effort to focus left him panting, but he could feel the spell beginning to splinter. He could almost hear his father’s voice, somewhere on the edges of his mind. Images blurred and swam in front of his eyes--people in white and lights that weren’t these cursed dim candles. He could feel them touching him, he could see their mouths moving, but he couldn’t understand their words. It was as if he were watching them through a haze of glass and water. _

_ He cried out to them--tried to make them understand. He could hear the echo of his voice--wordless and terrified. He was...he was screaming. Why--why was he screaming? He didn’t want to scream, God damn it! He needed---he needed to-- _ damn it _ he couldn’t think. _

_ They came at him again, and he lashed out in anger. Why wouldn’t they _ listen to him. _ There was a needle in their hands, and this time he did scream. His voice echoed eerily around him, as if he were split in two. There was a sharp pain in his arm and the visions faded to black. _

_ The white walls and distorted faces were replaced with an eruption of fiery reds and oranges as pain shot up his arms. _

_ This time, there was no echo when he screamed. _

* * *

Fred Thursday hoped that he would never in his life have to see _ that much grief _ on his wife’s face again. He had seen her worry before, bent over their children’s bed when they had tossed and turned with fever. He had seen her weep at Mickey Carter’s casket, one hand tucked under his own arm to keep him up. He had seen fear in her eyes the first time Dev broke his wrist, falling down the stairs when he was only 13. But nothing could come close to the heartbreak on her face when she finally walked into Dev’s room early the next morning.

She paused on the threshold, eyes flickering between Fred’s face and their son’s. Her mouth had formed a wordless gasp, and her hands flew to cover her mouth. Fred jumped out of his chair, afraid that she would fall, but she was across the room before he’d even taken a step.

Win fell to her knees next to Dev’s bed, and Fred knew he would never forget the desperation in her voice as she called his name.

“Endeavour,” she breathed. “Oh, my son.” Her fingers brushed through his hair, tender in a way only a mother’s hands could be. “What did they do to you?”

He was asleep, thank God, but Fred hoped he could hear her. It would do the boy good to have his mother here. God knew Fred himself needed her strength. The night had not been easy on any of them. Dev had dozed for a bit before waking up in a full panic. He hadn’t made much sense, thrashing and fighting against the doctors and Fred as if he didn’t recognize them. There had been fear in his voice, a fear that cut jaggedly into Fred’s skin. The lad had shouted at them to get away-- he’d actually managed to land a glancing blow on one of the nurse’s arms. 

The doctors had finally been forced to sedate him. Fred would forever be grateful that Win hadn’t seen the way Endeavour fought, nor the emptiness in his eyes, nor the way he sagged limply back into the bed once the drugs had calmed his fevered mind. It had made him sick to watch; it made him ill just remembering that frantic quarter of an hour.

Endeavour lay still now, sedated and finally appearing at peace. He looked young, though--young and broken. The bruises on his face had started to heal, turning an ugly shade of yellow. His skin was still pale, the blood not yet returned to his cheeks. Even his freckles had faded into ghosts, dying from a week without daylight. He looked every bit the wreck that he was.

It occurred to Fred then, as he pulled Win into his arms, that the two of them hadn’t had to face the reality of Dev’s profession--not really. For the few years that he had worked alongside _ Morse _ , the damage done to the lad had bothered them almost superficially. Certainly they had worried, but at the end of the day, _ Morse was a grown man who could worry about himself. _

That’s what they had told themselves, that’s what they’d been made to believe.

Thursday hadn’t had to face watching his son stare down the barrel of a gun. Win hadn’t yet dropped the phone from frozen hands when a faceless voice said _ It’s Endeavour _ . They hadn’t stood this vigil, not yet, not _ like this _ . They hadn’t had time to break into it, if such a thing could be done. They hadn’t had time to get used to their son being a copper, let alone a bloody _ Captain _ in some magical version of the CID. There had been no threats, no close calls--not really. One moment, their Endeavour was home and safe and _ theirs _again, and the next time they looked, he was here--broken and cast aside like rubbish.

God only knew how they would manage to break this to Joanie and Sam. The two of them had clung even closer to Dev once they had gotten him back. They’d always worshipped him a bit, but even more so once they’d grasped the horrors of the past fifteen years. This, though. This was something else.

“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Win’s voice broke through Fred’s reverie.

He stroked a hand through her hair and nodded. “Just needs to rest up a bit.” 

Win’s shoulders twitched beneath his hands. “Not likely to listen, is he though?” She pulled back and looked up at Fred. Bless her, she was smiling.

“Not our Endeavour.”

Win’s hand tightened on Fred’s lapels. “Our Endeavour,” she repeated softly. “You get them, Fred Thursday.” There was steel in her voice, though her eyes were fixed on Dev. “You get whoever did this to our boy.”

“I will, Win.” Fred promised softly. “I will.” 

* * *

Jakes peered into Dev’s room later that afternoon. The doctors reported that Endeavour was healing well, though a bit cranky at being cooped up. DeBryn had been unable to find _ anything _ suspicious in Dev’s labs--beyond an unexpectedly high red blood cell count for the amount that had supposedly been taken from him. Jakes was still smarting from the dressing down DeBryn had given him over _ unfounded suspicions _. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d convinced the doctor to keep mum about the whole thing--at least until he’d had a chance for Sally to investigate. She should be able to detect any vampire elements in the sample.

Time and distance had eased some of the suspicion from Jakes’ mind. He’d been jumpy, the night before, wrong-footed by the ease of the rescue. Dev’s bruised and battered face had haunted him the rest of the night, however, and he hadn’t been able to shake the deep need to just _ talk _ to the man.

It had been a long, horrifying week. In Dev’s absence, Jakes had stepped up to pilot the Guard--but it wasn’t a position that he wanted. Not like this, at any rate. He gladly would have taken up the role of captain--had Dev already become the Chairman. But to step into Dev’s shoes for the sole purpose of possibly _ solving his murder-- _it had almost taken more courage than Jakes had.

Somehow, though, he had done it. And somehow, _ somehow _ he had found Dev.

He needed to stop looking for ghosts where there were none. 

Dev was staring out the window, a peculiar expression on his face, when Jakes peered into the room. 

“Wotcha.”

Dev jumped, fear flashing across his face for an instant. When he turned and caught sight of Jakes though, the terror melted into a genuine smile. Peace settled over Jakes at that familiar grin and he cursed his own stubborn need to make everything _ complicated _.

“You look awful.” Jakes strode across the room, coming to perch on the side of Dev’s bed.

Dev gave him a lopsided grin. “Looks...much worse than it feels.”

Jakes felt the tension drain from his shoulders at those familiar words. He clapped one hand to Dev’s shoulder and forced himself to ignore that strange sensation of _ wrongness _. “It’s good to have you back, Dev.”

And he _ meant _ it, damn it. Whatever they had done to Dev, whatever they had _ tried _to do, they hadn’t succeeded. The proof was right here in front of him--a living, breathing Endeavour Thursday. Jakes just had to stop being such a copper for once. The universe had given him his best friend back, and here he was trying to second guess the universe. If he wasn’t careful, he just might jinx them both. 

“It’s...good to be back.” There was hesitation in Dev’s voice.

“Dev?” Jakes hand tightened on Dev’s shoulder.

“I’m…” Dev rubbed his hand at the back of his neck. “I don’t like not knowing. Why.” His eyes were dark. “Why they did this, who they were. They didn’t tell me. I just…” A shudder passed through him.

“It’s alright, Dev.” Jakes rubbed his hand over Dev’s back. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll find them.” He ducked his head, trying to catch Endeavour’s eye. “You’re strong, Dev. You can fight this. You’ll get through it.”

Something flickered between them, then, and Jakes almost recoiled. 

“Peter?” Dev was staring at him, a strange, sharp look in his eyes.

Jakes shook his head. “It’s got me spooked too, I guess.” 

“I just want out of here,” Dev muttered. 

Jakes had to laugh. “You always want out of the hospital.” He cuffed his Captain lightly on the shoulder and tried to ignore whatever _ that _ had been.

“You always try and make me stay.” 

“Someone has to look out for you, you know.” Jakes let himself slip back into their easy banter. Dev was back; this was them--always hiding their concern under quips and snarls and fights. “You can barely do it yourself.”

“I managed quite fine without you for a while there,” Dev shot back. There was no venom in his words, though; there never was. “Peter…” Dev’s voice was quiet, the levity having evaporated. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For finding me. For getting me out.” His eyes were earnest, and Jakes found it easy enough to reply.

“I’ll always come looking for you Dev. You know that. We won’t give up on you, your father and I.” The air crackled between them again, and Jakes did jump this time.

“What’s wrong, Peter?” That searching look was back in Dev’s eyes.

Jakes shook his head. “Just jumpy.” He offered what he hoped was a convincing grin. “I’m not much good at sitting around these places either.” He rubbed his hand over Dev’s shoulder again. “How about a cuppa? I can sneak down to DeBryn, see if he’ll make us something good? Maybe sneak in something a little stronger?”

Dev perked up at that; of course he would. Jakes laughed. “Something stronger it is. Don’t tell the nurses.”

Jakes slipped out of the room, leaving Dev with the crosswords he had saved over the past week. He paused at the door, staring back at his Captain and friend. He had to stop being so jumpy, so suspicious. Dev was back, and he was just the same as he always was. There must have been some...residual dark magic in the air. He was just imagining these things. And he accused Dev of jumping to conclusions.

As Jakes turned and walked down the corridor, he missed the slow smile that wormed its way on to Dev’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like that ending was a bit weak, and I'm not super happy with the Jakes scene but it's way too late and I wanted to get a chapter out. Hopefully it's still a decent update, and the next chapter should be better!.  
More to come soon!  
Thanks so much for your comments and speculations. <3 I love you all!!


	5. Too Cold to Start a Fire

They released Dev from the hospital the next day, and the whole nick breathed a sigh of relief when he returned to work just one day later. The doctors had insisted that he take at least two more days to heal up, but of course he had refused. Jakes couldn’t help the grin that kept sneaking onto his face as he listened to Dev rant about being stuck at home. No matter what his ridiculous suspicions had been, Dev was still his stubborn self, and _ God _ was it good to have him back. They were all glad to have Dev back--not just the Old Man and Jakes. Neither the nick nor the Guard had felt right without him. 

Jakes felt _ right _ again, having Dev back at his side. The two of them had worked together for over ten years now. Jakes had lost count of the drinks they’d shared, the nights they’d just sat up staring into the darkness around them, and the times they had saved each other. Sometimes it felt like they were the only two constants in the insane world of ghosts and ghouls and _ magic_. Even when Dev started building up a following of dedicated, talented magic-users, there were times when it seemed like no one else understood what the two of them had been through.

Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when Dev turned him down that first night back. It was their tradition--a drink after any affair that had nearly killed them. Dev had made Jakes promise, one dark night when Jakes nearly walked away from _ everything,_ that he would always come back for a drink. Insurance, he called it. They’d kept up the tradition for nearly eight years now, always seeking out one another’s company when they managed to crawl out from the wreckage of whatever had tried to take them down. Now Dev was back, but Jakes was drinking alone, feeling as if he’d lost something and didn’t know how to get it back.

_ Lost_. Jakes glared at his drink and scoffed. Jakes had been _ lost _ that whole week that Dev had been missing. He kept turning, expecting Endeavour to be there with that sharp look catching something that everyone else had missed. He could almost hear Dev’s voice in his ear, goading him in that way that somehow made him work better, harder, faster. It wasn’t that he _ couldn’t _ do it. Hell, he’d been slowly working to take over Dev’s job as the Chairman’s hints got stronger and more frequent. It was just...he was meant to be doing this--leading inquiries and investigations and chasing down suspects _ beside _ Dev. Not _ without _him.

Maybe that was why these suspicions bothered him so much. He wanted Dev back, wanted him safe, wanted to get back to normal. He didn’t want to be second-guessing his own instincts, didn’t want to think that something was still wrong--hell, he didn’t want to even imagine what might be wrong. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something _ was _ wrong. He couldn’t get rid of the sensation that Dev wasn’t himself. He couldn’t convince himself to ignore the way his magic seemed to recoil from Dev every time they stood next to one another.

He still had no proof. None at all. Sally hadn’t been able to tell much from Dev’s blood, other than _ something _ was off. There was a trace of dark magic in it, but it was faint. It could have been left from just Dev’s contact with his captors or it could be something more sinister. Jakes had _ nothing_. Nothing except DeBryn’s scorn. DeBryn had threatened to tell the elder Thursday, but Sally had talked him down. Not that she hadn’t given Jakes a piece of her mind when she’d gotten back, however.

_ Leave it, sir_, she’d scolded him. Gentle, but firm as always. _ He’s back, and in once piece. Stop turning over stones looking for demons_.

She was right. DeBryn was right. They were _ all _right. Dev was back, and everything could return to normal.

So why the _ hell _ was he sitting here alone? 

* * *

“I don’t care how important you are, Endeavour.” Fred Thursday’s voice ricocheted off the walls with deafening force. “You are still my son, and you cannot treat your mother like that. You know how she worries about you. Goddamnit, son, we were worried about you!”

Jakes cursed as Dev snapped back at his father. This whole night had gone to hell and he didn’t even know _ how _. He hadn’t meant to stir up trouble when he’d wandered to Dev’s flat. He just...he missed his friend, really. He wanted to make sure Dev was alright, that he hadn’t managed to drink himself into a stupor. Dev could withdraw sometimes, and Jakes had only wanted to check on him.

The issue had been that Dev wasn’t at home. Nor was he at his parents, when Jakes had rung ‘round to check. He wasn’t sure what made him call; he refused to admit to the fear that was still gnawing in his gut. Thursday’s nerves hadn’t settled yet, and he had instantly been on alert. The two of them had made the round of Dev’s usual haunts, becoming just a bit more frantic each time they left empty handed.

It had been nearly 3am when Win reported that Dev had returned to his flat. He hadn’t reacted well to being _ stalked _\--as he put it, and Fred had lost his temper. The two Thursdays had been shouting at each other for a good ten minutes now, and Jakes was beginning to get a headache.

They never fought like this. _ Dev _ didn’t fight like this, not about himself. Sure, he would shout at them when he was angry about a case, or justice, or being _ right _. But when it was his own welfare on the line, he would quietly disobey doctor’s orders and simply ignore any advice given to him. Yet here he was, shouting about needing to be left alone, needing to get some air, needing to have space.

It did nothing to help the suspicions that were still lingering at the back of Jakes’ mind.

Finally the two men wound down, both exhausted. The Old Man left with a parting demand that Dev apologize the next morning, and Endeavour had shut the door behind him with more force than necessary.

“Jesus, Dev.” Jakes gasped. “They’re just worried about you.”

Dev’s lip curled as he rounded on Jakes. “I’m not a _ child _ anymore, Peter. They know that.”

“You were missing for a week.” Jakes tried to keep his voice even. “You almost died. I think we’re entitled to be worried about you.”

“I’m _ fine_. I just went out for a bloody walk. What, I can’t take a stroll around my city at night?” 

There was a sneer in Dev’s voice that didn’t belong there. Jakes took a deep breath and tried to remind himself that it had been a long week for all of them. Dev was the one who had been trapped. Dev was the one who had been hurt. He had a right to be angry. He did. He really...he really did.

“No, Dev, nobody is saying that.” Jakes scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just...don’t be mad at them for worrying, okay?”

Dev snorted. “They didn’t even know I was missing for _ fifteen years_. One night shouldn’t be that hard for them.”

Jakes reeled back as if he’d been slapped. What the _ fuck? _ He stared at Dev for a moment, trying hard to tamp down the uneasy feeling that was burning brighter than ever. 

“That wasn’t your fault, and you know it.” His words were soft, but there was an edge of steel to them that he knew Dev would recognize. _ Should _ recognize, at least.

“Maybe I don’t know it,” Dev spat back. “Maybe I’m entitled to be bitter. Maybe it’s been a long fucking week, and my ribs still hurt like hell, and I just want to be left _ alone."_

“Dev--” Jakes put a hand out.

“Fuck off, Peter.” Dev batted Jakes’ hand away. “I need some space, okay? Just..._ God, _ let me breathe.”

“Fine.” Jakes growled the word, his own anger suddenly flaring. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. Just, for the love of God, Dev--Go easy on your father. Okay? Try and think about someone else for a change, alright? People care about you.” Jakes stormed to the door. “Don’t drink yourself to death.”

He slammed the door behind him and tried his hardest not to run down the hall. Once he’d escaped into the cool night air, he fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. His hands shook as he lit it, and he tried to ignore them.

Something was wrong. Something was _ very _ wrong. 

Dev had never lashed out like that, not in the entire time Jakes had known him. He’d been angry at the Army of Morality, angry at the world, angry at his magic but never--_ never _ \-- had he blamed his parents. And the way he’d snapped at Jakes there, as if he didn’t care what Jakes thought or felt...sure, the two of them had fought. They worked too closely together to not have moments when they each got on the other’s nerves. But that...Jakes had never seen Dev so _ bitter _, so childishly angry.The Endeavour he knew could get angry, but it was a cold, purposeful anger. He didn’t strike out wildly, he’d learned too much discipline from the Chairman for that. 

Jakes took a long drag on his cigarette. Whatever the _ hell _ those people had done to Dev, it went beyond some stolen blood and a good beating.

They’d left him with something. 

God help them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, another chapter that feels like "filler". I'm trying to train myself to focus on the _ important _ bits, and there's a lot of that to come. Thus, I end up kind of "glossing over" things. Could I have written out the scene where they are looking for Dev? Yes. Am I lazy for not doing it? Maybe. But honestly, there's more important angst to come. And...I'm long winded as it is. Heh. I feel a bit like a terrible writer for rushing this chapter but UGH I'm impatient and I wanna get to the GOOD STUFF. Hopefully it's good enough :)
> 
> I tried to get a bit more of Jakes' POV in...he's rather taking control of this story in a way I hadn't expected. But I suppose, for now, he's really the only one who suspects that anything is wrong.
> 
> Do you agree with him?
> 
> I adore all of your comments and especially your suspicions of what's going on. There's...a lot yet to go. Things are going to start Happening very soon. *evil laughter*


	6. Burning Diesel, Burning Dinosaur Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty folks. This one is a bit intense.
> 
> Warning for graphic descriptions of pain. Not really a whole lot of violence, but there's a whole lot of pain. I may or may not have been projecting my chronic joint pain in this chapter.
> 
> Credit to guardianoffun for the idea of this chapter!

_ He knew he couldn’t fight them, not physically and not magically. Each drop of blood that they stole from him sapped his physical strength, and each second that the spell wore on stole more and more of his core, his being. He hated the feeling, hated how he could feel his soul dying. He knew he couldn’t fight them. He knew there was really only one way out of this. _

_ He’d come to terms with it, really. He’d had enough time to think about it, laying there in that cold room. They hadn’t left him hardly any room for movement, and guarded him closely the few times they let him up. He tried to remember everything that he could about shimmers--blood shimmers, really. And no matter how many times he turned it over and over in his mind, the answer was always the same. _

_ It was the only reason they hadn’t hit him, not since the first. The only reason that Zorander resorted to those hellish touches. The only reason why the pain that was seared into his bones couldn’t be traced to anything substantial. The only reason why Zorander hovered over him, a spell on his lips, ready to move. He knew what it meant, knew why they refused to damage his body in any physical way. _

_ He cursed that knowledge though, and wished it wasn’t true. He wished they would hit him, give him something real to latch onto. The pain that Zorander cast over him flickered--it came and went like shadows. He couldn’t trace it, couldn’t latch onto it, and he couldn’t hide from it. There was no way to hold his body that wouldn’t hurt, no way to pretend that it wasn’t hovering there, ready to devour him. _

_ The blood draws were the worst. After the first few times that he had fought, Zorander had muttered a few words over that cursed needle. The fire that raced up his arms when it stabbed into him next made him scream. He couldn’t help it, it felt like they were flaying the skin and sinew and muscle from his bones. The pain would linger long after they’d withdrawn the needle, seeping into his bones and his subconscious like deathly shadows. The lack of blood made him dizzy--made it harder to think and harder to separate the phantom pains from reality. Sometimes he felt as if he would drown under it. He found himself flinching from that needle, cursed his own weakness, cursed the screams that it tore from him. _

_ But under it all, some part of him laughed at them--some part that he managed to hang onto inbetween the pain. He laughed at the simple minded idea that this-- this physical, feral pain could be worse than those fifteen years. He scoffed at the way they seemed to think that the pain and the threats and the blood loss could actually make something malleable out of him. He wondered if they’d even bothered to do any research on him. If they thought that this could break him. He hated it--hated the nausea that came in waves, hated the feeling of ice and fire that stabbed into him. But at least now he could scream and curse and fight. At least now he could look them in the eye and spit in their faces. At least now he knew that somewhere, someone bloody _ cared _ . All those years, he could do nothing. Nothing but pretend...pretend that he was fine and smile at the lies that he built up around himself. _

_ Those last few years had been the worst. Those years in which he’d had to work next to his father, watch the empty stare in his eyes. Watch his mother and sister and brother dance around him. Watch as they flinched from his anger--anger they couldn’t understand. _

_ That pain...that pain was so much worse. So much worse than this could ever be. And the thought of what this spell would do--to his family, to Peter, to the Guard--it hurt deeply, in a visceral way that thrummed deep within him, deeper than the fire that bit into his jaw when Alabaster gripped his chin. Deeper than the ache in his arms from the needle. Deeper than the dizziness and the confusion. _

_ He couldn’t fight them, not with words or spells or his fists. But he could fight them. Because he was stronger than them, and smarter than them. And because they had underestimated him. He’d lost his family once before. He’d lived in hell for fifteen years. There was nothing-- _ nothing _ \--that he wouldn’t do to protect them. _

_ So he waited. He grit his teeth, he whimpered and shied away from their touches. It went against everything within him to let them know how much he hurt. He didn’t want them to know that they were wearing down on him. He didn’t want them to hear him cry in the night, when the pain wouldn’t let him sleep. He didn’t want them to know how much he wished for a touch that didn’t hurt him. _

_ But he had to let them think he was beaten. He had to let them think that he was cowed, that he had given up. He had to convince them that he wasn’t a threat. So he waited, and then one day they slipped. _

_ Zorander didn’t bring a new hex bag with him that day. They must have believed that Dev was too far gone to fight back. They were stupid, and Dev cursed himself for getting trapped by them. But their stupidity could be their undoing, if he worked quickly. _

_ He was exhausted, tired from the endless pain and the loss of blood. The spell that loosened his bindings left him gasping for air, but he didn’t have time. He heaved himself to his feet, biting back a moan as his legs slipped under him. He crashed to the ground, and felt his wrist twist beneath him. He winced, and tried not to cry out. But it was a victory, and he only hoped that someone would notice. Hoped that he wasn’t wrong, that this would work the way it should. That something would go his way. _

_ He made it to the door and wrenched it open. Fools, he thought as he staggered through the unlocked. He didn’t know where to turn, where exactly to find what he needed. He didn’t have much time, and he had to...had to find something before they found him. This was going to hurt, no matter what. They would find him, and make him pay, regardless. He had to make this count. _

_ He rounded the corner and froze. _

_ Stairs. _

_ Thank God. _

_ He heard Alabaster’s shout, and Zorander’s curse and he knew he had to act quickly. He didn’t look back and he didn’t give himself time to think. He just lunged at the stairs. As his body connected with the sharp edges of the stone stairs, he prayed that it would be enough. _

* * *

_ Conscious returned to him and brought with it nearly overwhelming pain. His ribs hurt like hell, and his ankle felt like it was broken. Maybe his wrist too, he wasn’t really sure. Everything hurt--but it hurt in the real way that broken bones and bruised skin hurt. _

_ As he stared up into Zorander’s fuming eyes, he could see the truth of what he’d done reflected in that purple glow. It had worked. He had gotten through. _

_ As the blessed darkness pulled him under, he cried out to Peter and prayed that he could hear him. _

* * *

By the time Jakes wandered into the nick the next morning, Dev and the Old Man seemed to have smoothed things over. Dev even brough Jakes a cup of tea and a few biscuits; it was the way he always apologized. Jakes took the cup and smiled up at Dev; he forgave him, of course he did. They’d been through too much together to let angry words come between them.

But Jakes’ eyes narrowed as Dev retreated to his desk. They’d been through too much together--him and Dev--for Jakes to just let this go. There was something wrong with Dev, and Jakes couldn’t ignore it any longer. Whatever had driven him to shout at his father, bring his mother to tears, and practically throw Jakes out of his flat...Jakes was going to get to the bottom of it.

He’d meant what he said, in that hospital room. _ We’ll figure it out. _He’d made that promise to Dev, and he would keep it. Even if it meant pitting himself against the Old Man and DeBryn. Even if he had to go behind Dev’s back. He couldn’t let Dev down, not now.

Exactly _ what _ he was going to do, he didn’t quite know. He still had nothing to go on, nothing except vague personality changes and harsh words and that cursed gut feeling. Hell, he didn’t even know what to look for. For all he knew--

“Dev? You okay?” Sally’s concerned voice broke through Jakes’ thoughts, and he glanced up at Dev. 

Jakes’ chair scraped roughly over the floor as he stood suddenly. Dev had his wrist clutched to his chest, and his face was twisted in pain.

“I’m...yeah, I just.” Dev took a deep breath and stretched his hand out. “It just...started hurting.” He rubbed it gingerly. “I was just typing and it felt…” An odd expression flickered over his face, there and gone in an instant. 

Jakes canted his head to the side. “Did you injure it when...when they had you?”

“I don’t...I don’t know…” Dev’s voice was uncertain, and he looked as if he couldn’t really remember. “I don’t think--_ aahhh!” _

Dev lurched out of his chair with a shriek. He collapsed on the ground, curling into himself and whimpering. 

Jakes was across the floor in an instant, falling down next to Endeavour.

“Dev? Dev, can you hear me? God, Dev--someone get the doc in here!” Jakes hands fluttered uselessly over Dev’s body. Fear lanced through him as Dev continued to cry out. 

The door to the Old Man’s office slammed open. “What the devil is--_ Endeavour? _”

Fred crouched next to Jakes, panic evident in his voice. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Jakes shook his head. “I don’t know. He just collapsed. He said his wrist hurt, and then…”

Dev cried out again, but this time there was an angry tinge to the pain. “Fuck...fucking_ bastard. _”

Thursday crouched over his son, gently taking him by the shoulders. Jakes could hear him trying to bring Dev’s focus back to him, trying to figure out what had happened. Someone pushed Jakes to the side, and he vaguely registered the police surgeon’s profile. He could hear Sally trying to explain what had happened, and he could hear the surgeon’s measured tones trying to calm Dev. They all sounded far away and muffled, as if they were under water. Jakes felt as if someone were calling him, pulling him away from the confusion in front of him. But he couldn’t hear who was calling him, nor what they were trying to say. He only knew that he couldn’t _ breathe _.

Then air rushed back into his lungs and Jakes lurched forward with a gasp. The sounds of the room came back in sharp detail, and he could see Dev’s pale face in front of him.

The doctor glanced up at Jakes in concern. “Alright, sergeant?”

Jakes nodded. “I’m...yeah. Just...startled.” He glanced down at Dev. “Dev?”

“I’m okay,” Dev replied weakly. “I just…I don’t know what happened.” He reached one hand down to rub at his ankle. “It...it might have been a memory?”

The doctor ran careful hands over Dev’s wrist and ankle. “You said your head hurt as well?”

Dev nodded. “I remember they...I think they tossed me down...some stairs?”

Fred’s hand tightened on his son’s shoulders. His face was grim. “Bastards.”

“You seem to be free of injury right now.” The doctor considered Dev for a moment. “But you might want to check back in with the hospital. Did they check you for a concussion?”

Jakes didn’t listen to Dev’s response, because he already knew the answer. They hadn’t. Because Dev had never mentioned being thrown down a flight of stairs. He hadn’t limped, nor complained of any headaches, nor favored his hand. There hadn’t been any bruising on his back or chest that matched with that type of violence. In any of the stories he had told of that week, he had never once mentioned stairs.

Jakes felt a chill run down his spine.

“Peter?” Dev’s voice called to him, weak and thin. “Peter, are you alright?”

Jakes offered him a weak smile. “Yeah, just worried about you.”

His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before he gave Jakes a smile. “I’m alright, really.”

“You came back too soon.” The Old Man’s voice was gentle as he helped Dev to sit up. “I’m taking you back to ours. Don’t argue, Endeavour.”

Dev looked like he wanted to for a moment, but then he ducked his head in agreement. Jakes helped haul Dev to his feet, and promised to follow up on the leads Dev had been working on. 

“Take it easy, Dev.” Jakes clapped him on the shoulder, and this time he paid attention to the strange clash in the air between them. “Rest up. We’ll get you better in no time.” 

Dev nodded weakly and leaned into his father. Fred wrapped one arm around his son, sheltering him from the activity around him. His face was a mixture of thunder and fear as he lead Dev from the room.

Jakes watched them go. He watched the way Dev held his arm close to his body, tucked into his side as if it were broken. And he watched the way Dev favored his left ankle. 

He hadn’t had that limp three days ago. He hadn’t mentioned his wrist aching. And he hadn’t said anything about stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What. Is. Going. On.
> 
> Frankly, Peter Jakes would like to know that too.
> 
> This was supposed to be part of the last chapter, but I rather liked it as its own bit of information.
> 
> *grins* Let me know how you liked this chapter...I'm going to go to bed now...like I should have a solid hour ago. But I wanted to get this chapter out tonight!!


	7. Watch My Blood Begin to Boil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates. Exhaustion and migraines got in the way. I hope to get around four chapters up between today and tomorrow. 
> 
> Which should leave us with a very nice cliffhanger for the work week. I'm evil, I know. :D

There wasn’t one single part of Fred Thursday that wanted to think about the uneasy feeling in his stomach. He didn’t want to give it credence by considering what it might mean. If he thought about it too much, prodded about in that dark corner of his mind, he might have to face the fact that he’d been uncomfortable since the moment he’d wrapped his arms around the cold, still body of his son.

The row they’d had last night hadn’t helped to ease that pit. It wasn’t like Dev to shout at them like that. He’d never once made his mother cry, not when they used to know him..._ before_. Not intentionally at least, and not without apologies and promises after. The coldness in his eyes had seeped into Thursday’s bones the last evening. The anger with which they had parted still burned like a bullet in his side. 

They had apologized this morning, of course. Patched things up like they always did--or always _ used to_. But there was a lingering malcontent in Dev’s face. Fred could almost feel the pain of the last 15 years radiating off of his son. He’d heard what Dev had said to Jakes last night-- _ they didn’t notice for fifteen years-- _ and it hurt. 

It hurt, because it was true. They hadn’t noticed, hadn’t done much more than make it _ worse _ by acting as if it were a kindness to welcome him into a home that used to be his. They hadn’t noticed the hurt in his eyes or his reluctance to leave. They hadn’t done _ anything _ to help him. In some ways, Fred couldn’t blame the boy for finally giving voice to his anger. 

But still, watching as his son had fallen to the ground that morning-- watching as his face had contorted with pain, listening to his whimpers...it had seared into Fred, eclipsing the regrets from the prior evening. For a moment, all Fred could see was his Endeavour writhing on the floor. All he knew was that he had no way to help his son, no way to ease the pain. It had filled him with an overwhelming sense of dread--a feeling of betrayal that he couldn’t understand. 

Even now, as he watched Dev limp back to his desk, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and gather his son into his arms. He couldn’t, not here in the nick, not when there was work to do. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that even at the end of today, something would still stand between him and his son. 

Maybe he had to face the fact that his son, the Captain of the Guard, was no longer the young man that he had watched grow up. Maybe he had to face the fact that Dev had been wounded by those years, changed into something darker than he had been. Maybe he had to face the fact that the pain and betrayal had warped his spirit--not enough to turn him into what Octavia Stevens had wanted, but enough to change him nonetheless. 

Maybe he had to accept that Dev was no longer his Endeavour.

The thought lanced through Fred with a suddenness and a sharpness that took his breath away. He glanced out at Dev’s bowed head. _ Not his Endeavour_. The words reverberated in his skull, seeming to shake loose that well-guarded pit of unease and worry.

Fred shook his head. He pushed against that strange tangle of suspicion. No matter what the years had done, that was still _ his son _ out there. And he would protect him no matter what. He would love him--he and Win--and try to undo the damage that had been done. They wouldn’t give up on Dev.

* * *

_ Everything hurt. God, did it hurt. _

_ His wrist and ankle throbbed with the dull ache that came from fractured bone. Each breath that he took was followed by the sharp stab of a knife to his side. He could feel the bruises on his back and the lump on his head. And everywhere, _ everywhere _ , there was the cursed, nauseating pain of Zorander’s spell. _

_ Endeavour squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the wave of fear that was threatening to drown him. He couldn’t give up, not now. He couldn’t give in. He had to believe that someone had noticed. _

_ He couldn’t. _

_ He was exhausted. He had lost count of the number of times Zorander had stuck that needle in his arm. He’d lost count of the minutes and hours and days. He wasn’t even sure he remembered what it meant to be touched without pain. _

_ The sudden thought of his mother crashed into him, and he felt his resolve breaking. _

_ God. _

_ The number of times over the past 15 years when he wished for her hand, her gentleness, her soothing voice--he felt as if he could remember each instance as he lay there entombed in that cold stone. The few times she had reached out to him, and the sting of knowing she didn’t recognize him. The feel of her arms around his shoulders when she had _ remembered _ . The look in her eyes each morning since. The way she hugged him before he and his father headed out for the day. _

_ God, he missed her. He missed _ them _ . _

_ Everything hurt, and he was so tired. He’d tried to be strong, tried to fight back, but right now all he wanted was one kind touch, one kind word, _ something _ to let him know that he wasn’t alone. Forgotten. Abandoned. _

_ There was nothing to be done. Endeavour felt a shudder pass through him. He couldn’t fight the tears. Not anymore. Not when he’d nearly killed himself trying to get free. Not when he barely had the strength left to lift a finger. _

_ He let the tears come. They soaked his face, ran down his cheeks and into his ears and onto his neck. He let the pain wrap around him, let his need for his mother and his father crash over him like rubble. He let it all bury him. And he cried. _

* * *

_ Mother! _

The feeling of dread came over her with such strength that for a moment, Win was breathless. She bent over the sink, clutching it with knuckles that quickly turned white. 

_ Mother, please! _

Win spun around, wide eyes frantically searching the kitchen.

“Endeavour?”

He was meant to be at work. With Fred. She hadn’t heard the door open. Why could she hear him?

_ Mother! _

The cry was weaker now, and she realized she hadn’t heard him at all. Not really, not out loud. Win massaged her temples, trying to rid herself of the concern that washed over her. He was fine, of course he was. He’d gone to work, and Fred would have called her had anything been wrong. 

But...she’d heard him, _ felt _ him even. It had been as if she could almost _ see _ him, could have touched him if she had tried hard enough.

Win took a deep breath and shook her head. She was getting superstitious, that’s what. She ought to be better used to this by now. She’d known about magic for long enough, even if she had forgotten for a while. There was no need to get this jumpy.

Still, somehow she found herself with the telephone in hand, dialing the station’s number. She nearly sagged with relief when she heard Dev’s voice.

“Mum?”

“Are you alright, Endeavour?” She wasn’t sure what she would say if he asked why she was calling. She wasn’t even sure what made her pick up the telephone in the first place.

“I’m fine, mum.” He sounded annoyed; likely she’d interrupted him from something. “Why are you calling?”

Win closed her eyes, letting the sound of his voice wash over her. He was alright. He was at work, and he was healthy and strong again. “I just...was worried about you.” She straightened up, trying to shake off the dark cloud that had settled over her. “You were gone a week.”

“I’m alright, really.” His voice was gentle again, not harsh and grating like the evening before. “I’d better get back to work, though.”

Win nodded, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Yes. Just...come back safe, alright? And bring your father with you.”

She heard him laugh quietly. “I will. Bye, mum.”

She hung up the phone and wandered into the kitchen. His voice had sounded tired, but strong. Nothing like the voice in her head. That voice had been full of pain and fear and sorrow. But he was safe. He was in the nick, surrounded by Fred and Sergeant Jakes and all the rest. They would keep him from harm. She didn’t need to worry.

So why could she still hear his cries in her mind?

* * *

Jakes was pounding furiously at his typewriter when the phone rang. He glared at it. He didn’t have time for distractions. He needed to _ think _dammit. The incident with Dev from this morning hadn’t receded from his mind, even when the two Thursdays had returned to the nick. Dev was still limping and favoring his wrist, even though the doctors had reported no lasting injuries. Painkillers and rest, they’d said. 

_ Why hadn’t they known about this earlier_. The thought kept rattling around in Jakes’ head. He needed answers. He needed to put this useless suspicion and doubt to rest. He needed…

_ He needed to answer the phone. _

“Jakes,” he barked into the receiver. Dev raised an eyebrow at him from across the room, and for just a moment, Jakes felt as if Dev had never been gone.

“Sergeant. I was wondering if you might pop down to the morgue this afternoon?”

“Doctor?” Jakes had to resist the urge to pull the phone away from his ear and stare at it. DeBryn sounded strange, his voice muted in a way Jakes hadn’t heard before.

“I have something I would like to discuss with you. In private.” _ Worry _, that’s what that was. “About the matter we spoke on a few nights ago.”

_ Endeavour_. 

Jakes’ eyes flitted up to Dev’s desk. Dev was watching him, curiosity clear on his face. Jakes did his best to give him a reassuring smile. 

“Right. Two o’clock sound good?”

The doctor murmured his assent. “Oh, and sergeant? Come alone, if you please.”

* * *

Jakes glanced over his shoulder one last time before slipping through the doors into the morgue. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been followed there, although he hadn’t been able to spot anyone. Jakes shook his head. He needed to stop being so bloody suspicious--it was bordering on paranoia. 

“Doctor?”

The man in question popped his head out of his office. His eyes narrowed as he recognized Jakes. 

“Sergeant. Come in.”

Jakes followed DeBryn into his office. There was no trace of nervousness in him, but there was a strange set to his jaw and an unexpected glint in his eye.

“I am, first and foremost, a doctor.” DeBryn picked up a manila file from his desk. “But after so many years working as a pathologist, one tends to pick up some of the suspicions that go along with the job.” He looked up at Jakes. “I heard they brought Morse...er, the Captain in for a look-see. Something about a set of stairs? From before?”

Jakes nodded.

DeBryn pursed his lips. “I looked at his files. From that night and this morning.” He paused, considering Jakes. “There is no physical evidence to substantiate his claims.”

“What?”  
“They took x-rays, that night and today. Neither showed any fractures. None of his bruising matches the patterns one would expect after meeting with a flight of stairs. There have been no signs of a concussion.”

“Doctor,” Jakes tone was low. It was a warning. If the man was trying to suggest that he suddenly agreed with Jakes’ suspicions…

“I know I rather threw you out of here earlier, sergeant. But I heard about the fight last night. And now this.” DeBryn shoved his glasses up higher on his nose. “As much as I hate to admit it, something isn’t right, sergeant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and ideas and screeches. I'm truly humbled by your responses--i wasn't expecting anyone to actually read this, and I've gotta admit, I've put more work into the plot since all your comments.


	8. Raining Ice Picks on Your Steel Shores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been reliably informed that this one is a bit of a thriller. I may or may not have screamed a bit at that :D  
*evil cackle*

“What are you asking me, doctor?” Morse--for DeBryn had been unable to call him anything but _ Morse _\--turned slowly in the growing darkness of the morgue. His eyes narrowed as he considered the doctor’s question.

Max cleared his throat and turned back to cleaning up. “Just what it sounded like, Morse. Nothing more, nothing less. You said that you had fallen down the stairs. The x-rays didn’t show any fractures.” He turned again, fixing Morse with a calm stare. “What happened?”

Morse’s eyes were cold as winter ice as he watched Max work. Max didn’t flinch from that gaze, but he did take note of it. Morse had never given him that particular glare before, and it made him nervous. Not that he would let Morse see, of course. But it was something to pass on to Jakes.

Max had been reluctant to subscribe to Jakes’ theory that something was _ off _ with Morse. In the few years that Max had worked alongside Morse, he had come to appreciate Morse’s knowledge of poetry and his quick wit. He might even go so far as to consider Morse a friend. Since learning that Morse held a rather impressive rank in the Guard, his respect had grown. He had been privileged to work alongside Morse as he directed his Guard--watching the ease with which he commanded and the admiration that his people held for him. 

Max had been worried for Morse, just like the rest of them, when he had disappeared. He hadn’t breathed a sigh of relief until he had seen Morse sleeping in that hospital bed. So when Jakes had cornered him in the hall late that evening, Max hadn’t wanted to listen. Morse was back. Morse was in one piece, and he would be fine with time. 

Max was willing, now, to admit that it had wounded his pride a bit when he had seen the blood results. They didn’t match Morse’s story--it was as if he hadn’t lost nearly as much blood as his clothing and his story indicated. It rubbed Max the wrong way, that Jakes could doubt Morse’s story. It angered Max even more that he himself would doubt Morse’s exhaustion, stating that he should have been _ weaker _\--as if the boy hadn’t suffered enough already. 

But as stories filtered down to Max about Morse’s return--how he snapped at his mother, skipped out on Jakes, cursed his parents’ blindness, ignored one of Sally’s suggestions--he’d been forced to consider that Jakes might have a point. Morse had always been a bit stroppy, and more than a little self-righteous. But he had never held the last fifteen years over his parents’ head, and he was always willing to listen to his people. 

And then he’d gotten his hands on Morse’s medical reports. There had been no evidence that Morse had fallen down any stairs--no bruising, no broken bones, no concussion. Nothing to suggest that he had any reason for the episode at the nick, nor the slight limp that he still had. 

So Max had decided to ask him bluntly, when Morse wandered down to the morgue for a few questions. He and Jakes were about to take the Guard on a raid at a suspected necromancer’s lair--the man was a bit of a modern day Dr. Frankenstein. Morse stopped by to ask Max a few follow up questions about the various stolen body parts and organs.

Max almost regretted his honesty. He could still feel that cold stare on his back, and something about Morse’s lack of squeamishness as he discussed _ rotten legs _ and _ blackened lungs _ bothered Max. Certainly, Captain Thursday of the Guard had a much stronger stomach than _ Constable Morse_, but there were still limits. He had been a bit green when they had first discovered the batch of discarded limbs two weeks ago. 

“Just what I said, Doctor.” There was a hint of steel in Morse’s voice. “I fell down the stairs. I’m not sure why you felt the need to go digging through my records.”

Max glanced over his shoulder with feigned nonchalance. “I was merely looking out for you, Morse. Those doctors in casualty aren’t always the most precise.”

Morse blinked, slowly, and for a moment, Max felt as if he didn’t even know the man standing behind him. “I assure you, Morse, I had your best interests at heart.” He raised his eyebrows at Morse in mild reproof.

Morse stared at him, silent and calculating. Max turned calmly back to his sink. There was a slight _ clink _ of steel on steel from behind him, and Max glanced at the stainless cabinet next to him. His hands tightened on the pan in his hands.

The reflection in the metal was distorted, but Max could see enough.

Morse was stood behind him, blank fury on his face. He had a steady grip on one of Max’s abandoned scalpels. His eyes were fixed on Max’s back. Max had occasionally wondered what it was that his victims saw or felt or heard last. He’d never wanted to find out _ this way _.

He felt frozen, even as his hands moved absently--still washing the pan in the sink. His heart couldn’t reconcile what his mind was seeing. This was _ Morse_. This was his _ friend_. This...this was a man who cried over a murdered child, who walked into a trap out of loyalty, who _ kept going _ for fifteen years because he _ believed _ in what he was doing. He couldn’t do this. He _ wouldn’t _do this.

Morse took a step towards him. And Max realized that he had to _ do something _. 

There was a faint sound, out in the corridor, and Max froze. He could see Morse glance towards the door, scalpel in mid air. Max’s hands twitched in the sink. If he turned, could he reach Morse from here--could he knock the scalpel from his hand? He wasn’t sure if he would even be fast enough; Morse was slighter and faster. He was also clearly committed. Max was faltering, uncertain of whether or not he could strike at Morse even to save his own life.

There was a part of him that insisted this was all a farce, a nightmare, it _ couldn’t be real. _

Before he could make a decision, before either of them could move, the door to the morgue swung wide.

“Max!” Jakes’ voice bounced off the walls, an edge of panic to it. 

There was an almighty clatter as Max dropped the bin in his hand, and Morse the scalpel. Both men turned to face Jakes.

“Dev.” Jakes greeted. His eyes flicked between the two of them, and Max could sense his confusion. _ Did I just see that? _ was written across his face. 

Max could relate. 

“Peter.” Morse’s voice was even. 

Max tried hard not to stare. The vicious mask was gone, replaced with the clear blue eyes and calm face that Max knew so well. Max pressed a hand to his temple, trying to determine whether or not he had imagined the whole thing. Had...had he just let his imagination get the better of him?

“Doctor?” Morse’s voice was his own again, the cutting edge had vanished. He held the scalpel in his hands, handle pointed at DeBryn. “I believe I knocked this off the table.”

Max stared at it for a split second too long before reaching out to take it from Morse. He was rather amazed at the steadiness of his own hands. 

“Thank you. Morse.” 

Morse met his eyes, and Max tried not to flinch from the sudden flare of cold anger. But it was gone in an instant, and Morse was turning towards Jakes.

“I’ve got what I needed. Thank you, Doctor.” Morse strode out of the lab briskly, without a glance backwards. “We need to move, Peter.”

Jakes turned to stare at Max for a moment. “Are you alright, Doctor?” His voice was low, quiet enough so that he couldn’t be heard in the hall.

Max nodded, a sharp, certain movement. It did not match the quiver in his spine. “Alright, Sergeant.” He paused, his gaze following Morse’s retreating back. “Be careful out there tonight.”

* * *

“I know you don’t want to believe it, sir. Neither do I.” Jakes squeezed the bridge of his nose. This was the last call he wanted to make tonight. They were heading out in less than a half hour, and Jakes didn’t have time for this conversation. But after what he’d nearly walked into in the morgue...he had to tell the Old Man. He had to tell someone. Goddamnit, Dev had looked ready to _ kill _ DeBryn.

“Then why are we having this conversation, sergeant?” Thursday’s voice was flinty.

“Because I know what I saw, sir. I know he’s your son. I know you love him. Neither of us wants this to be true. But something is _ wrong_.”

“Are you trying to accuse my son of attempted murder? Because I would be very careful with accusations like that, Jakes.”

Jakes resisted the urge to slam his fist into the wall. “Sir, he’s not been right since he came back. Little things...that argument the other night? That’s not him. I know...I know you think he’s changed. But...he’s been like a brother to me these past years. I _ know _ him. That boy...the good hearted one you knew and raised? He didn’t change. He’s a little harder, sure. But not...not like that. That wasn’t him.” Jakes took a deep breath. “Tonight...it was like I didn’t even know him. I don’t know if it’s a spell or if someone is blackmailing him but... _ please _, sir. Something is wrong. I have to help him.”

“You do, indeed, sergeant.” A shiver ran down Jakes’ spine at the anger in the governor’s voice. “You have to follow your Captain into this raid tonight, and make sure he comes out safe. And you’d do best to rethink whatever it is that you’re driving at.”

“Sir, please--”

“We’ll talk in the morning, sergeant. Though I do hope by that time you will have forgotten whatever you _ think _ you saw.”

There was a click, and Jakes was left staring at the receiver.

_Dammit_ _. _

* * *

Five minutes after they crashed through the door, Jakes knew they’d been had. It was as if the necromancer had known they were coming. The house was filled with hexes, semi-animated corpses, and more than a few malicious creatures. The small contingent of the Guard that had rolled out for what the Captain had assured them was a simple raid was struggling. 

Jakes had taken cover behind a dilapidated piano, trying to shout directions and avoid a rather insistent dark vampire. He cursed under his breath. Where the _ fuck _ did Dev get off to? They might be okay, if the two of them put their heads together. Dev was the strategist--he knew the layout and the cover; Jakes was the one who could read the people, creatures, and (apparently) corpses. The two of them together were unstoppable. Alone, they just might lose this battle. 

A well aimed shot from Jakes sent a vampire reeling backwards, giving Sally enough time to spin and drive a stake through his heart. She glanced his way, a grin of thanks on her face. The expression froze, twisting into shock.

“Commander! Behind you!” Her shrill scream echoed through the room.

Jakes turned, barely in time to catch sight of one of the corpses heaving a cinder block at Jakes’ head. He dove to the side, but the corpse was faster. The block connected with his shoulder, and he went down hard. He felt his head crack against the piano, and everything went black.

Jakes woke to the sound of screaming. He couldn’t identify who, but he knew they were one of his--one of _ Dev’s _. He tried to push himself upright, wincing at the way his ribs protested. Bruised, then, if not broken. The world lurched sideways, and Jakes felt himself falling again. God, if only everything would stop spinning.

There was a rumble then, low and malicious. It shook the foundation of the house. Jakes could hear the walls rattling.

“They’re bringing it down!” _ Dev, that was Dev’s voice_.

Relief washed over Jakes, even as he struggled to get to his knees. No matter what he had seen tonight, no matter his suspicions, he would stick by Dev until he got to the bottom of this. He couldn’t help the bastard if he was _ dead_. 

“Out! Everyone out!” Dev’s shout mobilized whoever was left. Jakes could hear running. 

He had to get to his feet. He _ had to_. That brick must have hit him harder than he thought. The room kept spinning around, and the increased shaking wasn’t helping Jakes think straight. 

Shoes flashed in front of him. _ Sally_. Then another set, _ Endeavour. _

“Dev!” Jakes croaked. He wasn’t making it out of here on his own power, no matter how hard he tried. “Dev, I’m back here!”

Those shoes slowed, just barely. Jakes craned his neck, one hand stretched out towards Dev. They’d been here before, hauling one another off the floor at the last second. Jakes had slung Dev over his shoulder once when the Captain had been unable to stand. It was a habit with them. One hand out for salvation, the other would meet you halfway.

Except the hand never came. 

Jakes sought Dev’s eyes, a question on his lips. The words died as he caught sight of Dev’s face. His eyes were icy and angry, his lips curling into a wicked smile. For just a moment, Jakes wasn’t even certain that it was Dev in front of him--his face seemed to flicker and shift in the falling dust.

Then he was gone--like a phantom, he disappeared into the darkness.

The walls collapsed and Jakes knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot, as they say, _ thickens. _ Thanks to guardianoffun for making everything worse (better) and listening to my rambles.
> 
> As always, I love and live for your thoughts and reactions and ideas. 
> 
> WHATS GONNA HAPPEN NEXT?


	9. Like God's Eyes in My Headlights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've got a three-day migraine going on right now and I'm cranky as hell. I'm hoping this chapter is coherent and "up to snuff". I hope to get one more out today, which will bring us to The Cliffhanger. :D

_ He could hear the screams. He could feel their panic. He could almost see the dust in the air. It was all just beyond the haze of exhaustion and pain that surrounded him.  _

_ He’d lost count of the days, the hours, the minutes. He’d lost track of his hope. He was weak, so weak. It cost too much to even breathe. It hurt to open his eyelids. But still he resisted. Still he spit at them when they came close. Still he struggled.  _

_ He no longer hoped to be rescued. The spell was too strong, no one could see through it. His desperate leap had failed, somehow, and he was alone. The only thing he could hope for was to somehow destroy the only thing they needed before the spell finally finished weaving its curtain of lies. _

_ He had to destroy himself. _

_ A sudden flare of fear burst across his vision, and Endeavour jerked awake. _

Peter.  _ Peter was in danger. Peter was going to die. _

_ It shocked him, the strength of the spell as it flew from his mouth. His magic mirrored his own actions--far stronger and far more accurate when used to protect others, rather than for self preservation. The spell left him breathless. But it left him with a sense of peace. He had not failed, not in this. And maybe, as darkness closed around him, maybe he had succeeded in his other goal. _

Be safe, Peter!

* * *

“You left me! You turned away and left me, you bastard!” He shouldn’t be saying this, shouldn’t be revealing this much. If he had any hope of changing whatever  _ this _ was, he needed to be a better copper--a better Commander than this.

But those cold eyes that stared back to him had broken something inside of him. That flicker of something that was so unlike Endeavour Thursday had shattered something far more fragile than any sense of concern for himself. Up until then, he had been willing to believe that Dev was safe--that he just needed to stop whatever was happening. But in that moment, Peter Jakes realized that it wasn’t a matter of what  _ would _ happen, it was a matter of what  _ had _ happened. 

That was why he screamed at Dev now. That was why he stared into the face of his best friend and swore at him. That was why he fought against the strong hands that held him. It wasn’t for himself, it was for  _ Dev _ . They’d  _ done _ something to him. 

“What happened to you? Dev,  _ please! _ Listen to me! This isn’t you!” He shook himself, trying to wriggle free. “You saw, you know!” He glared up at the two men who held him. “You  _ know _ . This isn’t right, dammit, it isn’t  _ right! _ ”

Dev was talking to him, his voice calm and even. But as Jakes lunged at him, anger and hurt and fear welling up within him, it seemed almost as if Dev’s face flickered again. For a moment, his voice sounded lower, harsher. 

Then it was gone, as the hallway erupted in a flutter of white-capped Nurses and haggard looking doctors.

_ Hadn’t they seen? Didn’t they know? Damn it! _

* * *

DI Fred Thursday couldn’t breathe. His lungs refused to draw air. He could only stand in the bright hospital lights and  _ stare _ at the scene which played out before him. 

His son, hands raised in the air as he tried to placate the battered sergeant who was shouting at him. Richard and Matthew--both dusty and bloodied, trying to keep Jakes in his hospital bed and off of Dev. Sally, leaning heavily on a crutch, shouting at all four of them. The flock of nurses who were trying to diffuse the chaos.

And then there was Peter Jakes. No one was quite sure how he had survived. He’d been hit with a heavy cement block, knocking him down, and then the whole damn lair had collapsed about him. According to the fragmented bits of information that Thursday had gathered, Dev had been the first to notice his second in command’s absence in the tattered remains of the Guard. He’d been frantic, almost manic, in his efforts to organize a search. Sally had been the one to locate the unconscious Commander, somehow seeming to know where he had been buried. 

He had been pulled from an inexplicable bubble of safety, covered in broken boards and dust, but sheltered from the heavy wooden beams and spears of metal. His wrist had been sprained, and he had needed several stitches in a gash on his shoulder, but he’d been remarkably lucky.

Thursday would have suspected a concussion, though, seeing Jakes shouting at Dev. He fought against the hands that held him, demanding to know why Dev had  _ left him there _ . Thursday could hear Dev placating him, telling him he’d been confused in the chaos. Jakes shouted back louder, ignoring the nurses. Thursday was sure they suspected a concussion as well.

But the night had held far more than just those two fateful calls for Thursday--Jakes’ wild accusations and Strange’s report of the failed raid. Thursday had heard Win’s story--of how she’d sworn she had heard their son calling out to her. And then Max DeBryn had called, and Thursday’s world had shattered at his feet. Because  _ Max’s story matched Jakes’. _

And now...now  _ this _ . Now Jakes, accusing Dev of intentionally leaving him there. Thursday scrubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t wanted to face this...hadn’t wanted to believe what even his own gut was telling him. God, he just wanted his son back. He just wanted Endeavour back, safe and beyond harm. He had been willing to accept the bouts of anger, the secrecy, the odd ticks that Dev had suddenly seemed to develop. He’d been willing to believe they were just symptoms of the trauma his son had endured over the last few weeks--and years, if he were honest.

He hadn’t wanted to accept what was now so painfully clear.

Something was wrong with Dev.

* * *

The doctors had eventually needed to sedate Jakes. Dev had stormed out, shrugging off his father’s comforting hands.  _ I need some air _ he had growled. And Fred had watched him go. He should have followed him, should have tried to talk the boy down. But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away, to follow him down those stairs. Instead, he found his feet leading him towards the battered members of the Guard. It shamed him, as he realized why.

His copper’s instincts had outweighed his father’s. He needed...he needed to talk to witnesses, figure out what had happened. He hated that...hated that he was even  _ considering _ that his son might lie to him, that he might not tell the truth.

So he listened, with his head bowed, as Sally, Richard, and Matthew told their tale. He caught the hesitation as Matthew admitted that Dev had disappeared for a while. He heard the waver in Richard’s voice as he wondered aloud how anyone had known they were coming. He remembered the pride in each of their voices when they had spoken about Dev before--how they had recounted how he had hand picked them, saved them even. And he saw the concern in their eyes.

“He’s telling the truth, sir, Commander Jakes is.” Sally’s voice was quiet. “I was too caught up in trying to get out myself that I didn’t notice. But after, once everything calmed down, I remembered. The Captain he...he paused as we were leaving. I saw him look back. And then he just...left.” She shifted nervously. “I don’t know…” she shook her head. “I thought he was just having a hard time after...everything that happened. But he and Commander Jakes...they were always so close. Now it’s like something came between them.” Her eyes sought Thursday’s. “And when he went...to dig the Commander out...I’ve never seen him like that. So unfocused, almost crazed.” She paused again, staring at Thursday solemnly. Suddenly she straightened. “We would have had Jakes out faster without him, sir.” 

* * *

Jakes awoke to the heavy feeling of sedatives in his system. He should have known better than to make a scene. Should have known it would end this way. God, he had screwed up. He groaned, bringing up his unbandaged hand to scrub at his face.

“It’s alright, Sergeant.” 

Jakes’ eyes jerked awake at the low voice at his bedside. He turned his head, eyes widening at the sight of the Old Man.

“Sir?”

Thursday looked like hell. His suit was rumpled and his face haggard and grey. He stared at Jakes for a long, silent moment. Then he sighed. One hand came out to grip Jakes by the shoulder.

“You were right, Sergeant. You were right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love your thoughts and ideas! What do you think is going on here? What's wrong with Dev? What will happen next? :D


	10. The Dogs are Looking for their Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for this?
> 
> I don't think you are. *evil cackle*

The stone house was old, the wooden door half rotted away. The yard was overgrown with weeds and scraggly trees and bushes that tore at their clothing. The place looked abandoned, as if no one had come near in decades. But Dev had been here. So tonight, Jakes and the Old Man retraced Dev’s steps, hoping to find answers.

In the two days since the house collapse, Jakes and Dev had barely spoken. They’d danced around each other awkwardly, not quite angry but not quite forgiven. Dev maintained that Jakes had imagined everything, with a humble sincerity that had everyone--even Fred-- questioning their judgement. Still, an accounting had to be made for the failed raid, and neither Jakes nor Max had forgotten what had nearly occurred in the morgue.

The elder Thursday had authorized a constant tail on his son, despite his lingering doubts. He didn’t know who or what had gotten to Dev, caused him to almost snap at DeBryn--he wasn’t even sure there  _ was _ a who or a what. But his gut told him something was off, and his coppers instincts told him to keep an eye on Dev at all times. If someone was threatening him, it would be the fastest way to get him to safety. 

Except no one appeared to be threatening him. He had sauntered up to this house the past two evenings completely unconcerned, and left with the same calm expression on his face. Had anyone but Matthew followed Dev, Thursday might have questioned their eyesight; Matthew was rather well equipped to deal with the darkness.

Thursday couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of deja vu as he and Jakes slowly crept through the rotted entryway. There were no sirens tonight, no rush, no certainty of what they would find. But there was tension thrumming through his veins, concern bleeding through Jakes’ carefully crafted image.

They had waited, of course, until Dev made an appearance and then vanished into the night again. Three nights in a row was a pattern that made even Thursday suspicious once again. Whatever secrets this dilapidated haunted shack held, Thursday was fairly certain they would answer his and Jakes’ unspoken questions.

* * *

Jakes and Thursday methodically cleared the first floor of the building. There was nothing--nothing except tattered furniture, rotting wood, and mossy stones. The place smelled of death. But despite the darkness and the moisture, there was an undercurrent of something in the air. Something Thursday couldn’t place, but Jakes could.

“Magic,” Jakes hissed. “There is dark magic here.” He paused, his eyes roving the dim room. “Upstairs, I think. There has to be a stairwell somewhere.”

They found it, near the back of the house. A slippery, twisting set of stone stairs. Stairs that had a hint of rust-brown smeared along the lowest few steps.

“Blood.” Thursday felt a shiver run up his spine as he inspected the stain. He looked up at Jakes. “This is blood.”

Jakes nodded. His lips pressed into a firm, bloodless line. “I think we’d best be cautious.”

Thursday turned to go up the stairs first. His foot was on the lowest, when a shout made him spin.

“Dad! Dad, stop! Don’t go up there!” Dev skidded into the room, panic on his pale face. He glanced between Jakes and Thursday.

For a moment, they all froze. Thursday’s mind churned with confusion. Dev shouldn’t be here, he should have gone home. And  _ what _ exactly were he and Jakes supposed to say, to explain themselves?

Dev saved them the trouble. But his words were the last thing that Thursday expected to hear.

“Dad. You...you can’t trust him.” Dev’s eyes flashed to Jakes, and pain flickered across his expressive face. “He’s...he’s not who he says he is.”

Thursday’s head jerked towards Jakes. The man stood stock still, eyes wide and fixed on Dev’s face.

“Endeavour...what...what are you  _ talking _ about?” Jakes took a step forward.

Dev was faster. A wicked looking dagger appeared in his hands. “Stay back! Stay  _ back. _ Dad, move away from him.”

“Dev.” Thursday held out a hand, his voice level. “Dev, why don’t you calm down.”

“I can’t--Dad, you’ve  _ heard _ him.” Dev’s eyes were panicked. “He’s...he’d been spreading rumors. I know, I’ve been trying to figure out why. He’s...Oh,  _ God. _ ” Dev’s face crumpled in grief.

“Dev--what’s wrong--oy!” Jakes jumped back as Dev shoved the dagger towards him.

“Get away from me!” Dev lunged again. “What did you  _ do _ with him? What did you do?!” His voice was almost hysterical, the dagger wavering in his hand.

Jakes glanced at Thursday, confusion evident on his face. “Sir, I--”

“Shut up!” Dev swallowed, and seemed to get ahold of himself. “Dad, he’s been lying. I don’t...I don’t know exactly what happened, but that’s...that’s not Peter.”

Thursday glanced between the two of them.  _ What the hell _ ?

“He’s been planting little seeds everywhere, making people think...that there’s something wrong. Just like….just like that spell, the one that took you from me?” 

Thursday swallowed harshly at the memory.  _ It forces you to believe what makes the most sense. _ “Endeavour…”

“I’m not lying, Dad. Whatever...whatever Max said about the morgue, it wasn’t true. I don’t know...I just, he hasn’t been the same since. And I didn’t leave Peter in that house, I never would have. I couldn’t find him! I tried, I tried to get to him, Dad. I tried, I was so afraid.” His voice broke on the last bit, and Thursday could see tears shining in his eyes. “How did he survive, Dad? He shouldn’t have, God, I was so afraid. But…”

Thursday spun on Jakes, taking a step backwards towards Dev. “He’s right, you know.” Jakes gaped at them. “You did start this.”

“Sir--you can’t believe him.” Jakes took a step forward, stilling when Thursday held up a hand. 

“How did you survive that collapse?”

Jakes shook his head. “I don’t...I don’t know, sir. But, Dev, I don’t--”

“Shut up!” Dev snapped. “Dad, he’s lying.” Dev turned towards him, eyes pleading. “You know it’s me, Dad. Please...please don’t do this to me. Please...I can’t stand it again.” His shoulders shook. “I can’t...please don’t reject me again, Dad. He’s...Dad, please?”

Thursday glanced between the two of them, heart torn. Bits and pieces of the last two weeks filtered through his mind, fuzzy and muddled. Jakes questioning, Jakes accusing, that gut feeling that hadn’t left his veins, Jakes yelling, Jakes fighting.

_ God _ , what was he supposed to do?

In the end, there wasn’t much he  _ could _ do. He could never remember exactly what happened, except that there was a shout--from Dev or Jakes he didn’t know--and suddenly something struck him in the side of the head. The world went white, and he crumpled to the floor.

A terrified shout from his son brought him back to the present. His eyes fluttered open just in time to see Jakes launch himself at Dev. One of Jakes’ fists connected with Dev’s jaw, and he stumbled backwards. Thursday cried out, his hand scrabbling against the stones. He couldn’t find purchase, couldn’t stop the pounding in his head.

The two of them fought, desperate and angry. The dagger had gone flying after Jakes’ first hit, and both men seemed to be struggling towards it. Dev was fast, light on his feet, and well trained. But Jakes was stronger. Thursday watched helplessly as Dev staggered backwards under Jakes’ onslaught. There was anger in Jakes’ eyes, an anger that Thursday couldn’t understand--until he did.

_ Dev was right _ . 

The thought doused Thursday in ice-cold fear. It had been Jakes this whole time. Jakes, selling bits and pieces of doubt. Jakes, spreading stories. Jakes, leading them here. He had forsaken his own son--his own  _ son _ \-- for yet another set of lies. Horror and shame washed over Thursday.

And then terror, as he realized that Jakes had his son pinned up against the wall. There was the cruel glint of steel in the dim light as Jakes jabbed the dagger at Dev’s chest.

“Jakes!” Thursday called out desperately.  _ God, let him hear me _ . “Jakes--Christ, man, what are you doing?”

Dev’s eyes flickered over Thursday’s shoulder. “Dad! Dad--he’s--help me!”

“Shut up, shut  _ up!  _ You don’t get to call him that!” Jakes poked the knife harder at Dev, and Thursday saw blood begin to stain his shirt.

_ God. No. _

“Jakes! Dammit, man, leave him be!” Thursday willed his shaking limbs to work. He would  _ crawl _ to them if he had to. 

Jakes hissed something at Dev that Thursday couldn’t hear. 

“Dad! Please!”

Thursday shoved himself to his feet, desperation making him ignore the pain in his head. He launched forwards with a bellow. “Get off him, Jakes! Leave him be!”

Thursday saw Jakes shake his head. Heard him shout something, but it was drowned out by the pounding of blood in Thursday’s ears. He saw Jakes’ body rock forward. He saw the knife slice through his son’s skin and bones. He heard himself scream.

And then he saw his son--his  _ Endeavour _ \--slide to the ground, mouth opened in a silent scream, unseeing blue eyes glazed in pain, and blood-- _ so much blood _ \--dripping down his shirt. 

“ _ Endeavour--no, please!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, there is the cliffhanger I wanted.
> 
> I should be sorry. I'm not. 
> 
> Please, feel free to scream at me in the comments. I live for it.


	11. I'm Gonna Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, ho!  
Sorry for the delay. I didn't exactly mean to leave you on that cliffhanger for so long. I blame a week and a half long headache and the inevitable depression that comes along with it. 
> 
> At last, (some) answers!
> 
> Featuring: some very hand-wavy magical stuff that I made up because I needed a Thing. :D

_The first hit felt like a sledgehammer to his jaw. Dev cried out, the shock of it reverberating down his spine. Pain blossomed in his knuckles, and Dev cursed it. He was fighting back, _damn him_. _God_ did Dev wished he wasn’t. _

_ The hits kept coming, again and again and again. Each time, they jarred his old injuries and stole what little breath he had left. Each time, the pain in his ribs and his jaw got worse. And with each hit, he began to hope. _

_ The sharp prick of a knife on his chest made him gasp. He felt that hope flare within him. Maybe---just maybe--the knife slipped further under his skin and he couldn’t keep the cry of pain in. Everything hurt, and it had hurt for so long. He didn’t even remember what it felt like to not be in pain. _

_ He felt the knife slice into his chest with an awareness that startled him. He felt it sever skin and bones and bury itself deep in his chest. _

_ He screamed. God it hurt. It hurt worse than anything they had done to him. It felt like he was exploding, as if his heart and his lungs and his veins had revolted against him. It felt as if he were burning, filled with petrol and set on fire. It felt as if his head were being pressed in a wrench, as if the pressure might crush his skull. _

_ He thrashed against the pain, trying desperately to escape it, to put an end to it. _

_ And then it was gone. _

_ The searing pain in his chest vanished. The pain in his knuckles faded to nothing. The phantom bruising in his jaw eased. The pressure in his head was gone. _

_ As darkness claimed him, he knew that he was finally free. _

* * *

“Peter.” Dev--no, _ not Dev _\-- whispered. It felt like he was staring into Jakes’ soul with those eyes--eyes that were so very much like Dev’s. “Peter, please. Don’t do this.”

Jakes felt his hands shake, felt his resolve waver. His eyes took in the bloodied lips, bruised chin, and scraped cheekbone of the man in front of him. He could feel blood on his own knuckles, and he knew there were more bruises under Dev’s shirt. Jakes shook his head. He couldn’t think like that. Not now. Not when they were this close. Not when he could almost feel Dev’s magic beckoning to him.

Not when he had to finish this. Jakes took a deep breath and tightened his hold on the knife.

“You’re not _ him_.” He hissed the words, praying that he was right. “You’re _ not_.”

“Peter--after all this time.” That voice pleaded with him, so familiar and so frightened that it nearly broke Jakes’ heart. “You _ can’t_. I _ saved _ you. So many times.”

Jakes increased the pressure on the knife ever so slightly. “He wouldn’t say that. He _ never _ said that,” he snarled. Dev _ never _ held that over Jakes’ head; hell, Jakes wasn’t sure if he even _ realized _ how many times he had saved Jakes’ life. “You’re a liar. A liar, a cheat, and a fake. Where’s Dev? Where is he?! _ Tell me_.”

And then it happened. It was only a moment--just a fraction of a second--but Jakes saw it, and it was enough. Pure hatred and revulsion flashed in those eyes--eyes that seemed for a moment to be chocolate brown and not blue. Hatred that mirrored what he had seen that night when the ceiling caved in on him. Brown eyes in a face that wasn’t quite Dev’s--just like the last face he had seen before sawdust and plaster trapped him. And he knew.

Jakes knew what this was. He had known all along, really, he just hadn’t wanted to _ believe_. Hadn’t wanted to believe they could all have _ missed this_. He hadn’t been able to admit that he, of all people, had been fooled. That he hadn’t gone looking. That he hadn’t brought in the Chairman with his suspicions. That he had just... _ accepted this_. And God help him, he knew what he had to do.

Because there was only one way to break a shimmer spell this strong. There was only one way to save Dev. He almost hated himself for it, hated himself for the knife that drew blood from someone who looked _ so much _ like Dev. But after this week-- after being left to die in that house, after being told to _ fuck off _ by his best friend, after _ Max_, and especially after the pain on Thursday’s face each day--Jakes held no guilt for the life he had to end. 

He could only pray it wasn’t a blood shimmer.

A gasp from behind him nearly broke Jakes’ concentration. _ Thursday_. Damn it.

“Jakes! Jakes--Christ, man, what are you doing?”

Jakes could hear Thursday scrabbling at the stones, trying to regain his bearings. The man under Jakes’ knife whimpered.

“Dad! Dad--he’s--_ help me!_”

“Shut up. Shut _ up_. You don’t get to call him that!” Jakes jabbed the knife further. 

“Jakes! Dammit, man, leave him be!” The pain in Thursday’s voice tore at Jakes. It grated like salt in Jakes’ own raw wounds. 

Jakes leaned in closer, spitting out his words low so that only the man in front of him could hear. “What kind? What kind of shimmer are you using? _ Damn you_, tell me.”

The man stared back at him, and Jakes saw hatred again. Then those eyes flicked back to Thursday. “Dad! Please!”

“Get off him, Jakes!” Thursday shouted, desperation leaching into his anger. “Leave him be!”

Jakes shook his head. Thursday had almost believed the tale that _ Jakes _ was the fake. If Thursday made it to them, they would lose Dev. Thursday wouldn’t believe Jakes, not now, not after that fight and this knife. He had to make this call. 

A shiver went down his spine as Jakes realized. Right now in this moment, he was in charge. He wasn’t the Commander. He was _the Captain_ _of the Guard_. Dev had left him in control. Dev trusted him, trusted that he could make the right decisions. Jakes straightened his shoulders. God forgive him for what he was about to do to Thursday.

“Fuck you.” Jakes growled through clenched teeth at the monster in front of him. “I’m getting Dev back.”

He drove the knife home. 

Thursday roared.

* * *

Jakes stood there, eyes closed against the visions of what he had done. He knew he was right. He knew the blood staining his hands wasn’t Dev’s. He knew he had done the right thing.

And yet...and yet…

He forced his eyes open, forced himself to stare at the man he had just killed.

_ Please let me be right_.

Jakes’ knees went weak with the sight that greeted him. He let go of the knife, staggering backwards as the dead man slid to the floor.

Dark brown hair--not golden-red. Tanned face--not pale and freckled. Unseeing eyes that were _ brown not blue. _

“Thank God,” Jakes whispered.

“What have you done? _ What have you done!” _

Jakes turned just in time to see Thursday lurch forward, his face like death. He moaned, and the sound of it chilled Jakes to the bone. It was a sick sound, sorrowful and full of pain. 

Jakes reached out to stop Thursday. “Sir! Sir--look at him. _ Look at him. _ It’s not Dev. It’s _ not Dev. _”

Thursday turned vacant eyes to Jakes. “You killed him. You bastard!” Thursday moved as if to attack Jakes, but his body sagged. He looked old, so old. His hands came up to cradle his face and his shoulders shook with a sob. “Endeavour...oh _ God. _”

“_ Look. At. Him.” _ Jakes commanded. He stepped out of Thursday’s view.

He could tell the moment Thursday realized the truth. The Old Man stumbled; he would have fallen if it wasn’t for Jakes’ hands. 

“I knew it wasn’t him,” Jakes whispered. _ A lie, but a small one_. “I had to. Shimmers are dangerous things, sir. They’re unstable, and depending on the spell...I…I had to.”

Thursday stared at the body for a few moments longer. His shoulders heaved as he tried to catch his breath. An eternity later, he turned to Jakes. 

The expression in his eyes made Jakes’ stomach turn.

“Where’s my son?” There was steel in Thursday’s tone, sharp and deadly. “Where is my son.”

“I don’t know, sir.” Jakes shook his head. 

“How long.” The words were curt, calm in a dangerous way. “How long has he been gone? How long was..._ he _ pretending?” 

Jakes swallowed. He knew--God he knew how long. But he didn’t want to face it. Didn’t want to admit to the fact that Dev had been gone for nearly _ three weeks _. That whatever was at stake here-- whatever this was about-- they had fallen for it, accepted the lies. 

_ They had abandoned Dev for three fucking weeks _. Abandoned him to God knows what fate.

“How long, sergeant.” Thursday’s hand held Jakes’ arm in a heavy grip.

“This whole time, sir.” Jakes closed his eyes. “We...we never got him back.”

Thursday swore. “I knew. _ Damn it_, I knew. I knew when I held him. It didn’t feel right. DeBryn knew. _ You knew_. And I ignored you all.” Thursday’s shoulders sagged.

“Sir...you can’t. You can’t do this, can’t blame yourself.” Jakes laid one hand gently on Thursday’s shoulder. “We all believed it. We all _ wanted _ to believe it. Shimmers...they’re nearly impossible to detect. Especially…” Jakes shook his head. “I didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to get the Chairman involved. But that night...first with Max, and then the house...I saw through it, for just a second. And once you doubt it, the shimmer breaks a bit. I caught a few glimpses, not nearly enough.”

“Jakes…” Thursday’s voice was sandpaper rough, and it scraped across the bruises in Jakes spirit. “Jakes...how do we know...is he...still alive, even?”

Jakes nodded firmly. He couldn’t believe anything else. “He would have to be. Shimmers...they can only be cast if the..._original _ is still alive. Unless…” He shook his head. He couldn’t go down that path. Couldn’t believe it was a blood shimmer. That way lay madness.

He broke away from Thursday, his eyes scanning the room. “We have to focus. We need to find Dev, he’s still out there.” Jakes bent down to pull the knife from the stranger’s body. “If we can figure out what they were doing here, maybe we can find them.” 

Jakes turned the knife in his hand. His eyes caught sight of the blood that streaked the blade, and suddenly it felt as if there were no air in the room. He stared in horror at the blood--bright crimson mixing with a shimmering dark red--almost black.

“Oh...oh _ God.” _ Jakes dropped the knife and staggered backwards. “ _ Oh God. _ ” He thought he might be sick. “God, _ no._”

Thursday stirred. “Sergeant?”

“The blood,” Jakes whispered. “_ Look at the blood. _ Christ, we’ve got to find Dev. Oh God, _ what have I done. _”

Thursday examined the knife, and turned a questioning gaze to Jakes. “Demon’s bleed black, don’t they?”

Jakes shook his head violently. One hand covered his mouth, though whether it was a scream or his lunch that he was trying to keep back, he wasn’t sure. “Demons...demons don’t bleed. No, sir-- it’s..._ damn you_. Damn you!”

Anger surged through Jakes’ veins and he lunged at the dead man.

Thursday caught Jakes, pulling him back. “Sergeant! _ Jakes. _ Calm down.”

Jakes stood there, his jaw working furiously. He knew what that blood meant. He knew what they had done to Dev--what they were trying to do. He knew what _ he _ had just done to Dev. And _ damn them _\--if he found them, he would tear them limb from limb.

That moment at the station came back in stark clarity--Dev suddenly crumpling in pain, rambling about stairs and injuries that had no visible signs. Jakes stumbled towards the wall. He collided with it and slid down, staring at the ground with unseeing eyes.

“Oh my God, Dev,” he whispered. “What did you do?”

“Jakes.” Thursday bent over him, panic in his eyes. “Talk to me, sergeant.”

“It’s a blood shimmer, sir.” Jakes refused to look at Thursday. He stared at the dead man and at the two shades of blood that stained the stones. “They...oh, God.” He had to close his eyes until the wave of dizziness passed. “They take...the victim’s blood. And give it to the imposter. With the shimmer spell.” Jakes took a breath, trying--and failing--to calm himself. “They don’t...they don’t give the victim time to recover. They just...keep taking his blood. And…” Jakes shuddered. “Sir...anything...anything you do to the shimmer...the victim…” He turned to Thursday. “He felt that. He felt...every blow, every bit of that fight. The knife...it’s a feedback loop. _ He felt that. _”

Thursday was staring at Jakes with horror now, his face a deathly gray color. “My...my son. They…he...”

Jakes nodded. “We have to find him, sir.” He stared back down at the pool of blood--more black than red. “They’ve taken so much already. _ Damn them _. He doesn’t have much time. And if they know...”

“Did it...the knife...did it kill _ him? _” Thursday’s chest was heaving.

“No. It’s...the spell isn’t that powerful. But he...he would feel…” Jakes lurched to the side, just barely in time to miss vomiting on Thursday. He stood, hunched over and retching, until there was nothing left. “I knew...I knew when I did it there was a chance. But if he’d gotten free…” He looked up at Thursday, knowing full well there were tears slipping down his face. “If you had believed him...we would have lost Dev for good.” Jakes’ shoulders shook with a silent sob. “Oh God, Dev. I’m so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...unfortunately, not a TON of answers. 
> 
> I do promise, this has a happy ending. We just...have a bit of a ways to go yet.
> 
> *beggar voice* Comments? A comment please? I need a molecule of dopamine...could you spare a comment?
> 
> Sorry, y'all, I'm tired. Your comments and theories and screams keep me going, no joke.
> 
> Also, I take prompts!


	12. Rusty Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
Here's another chapter for your Saturday entertainment!
> 
> Warnings again for descriptions of pain. Lots of pain. I'm sorry...I got carried away. Please don't murder me...

The stinging pain of harsh fingertips on his chin roused Dev. He flinched from the touch and tried to pull away. He was rewarded by a sharp slap that made him cry out.

“What did you do?” Zorander’s purple eyes bore into Dev. They were glowing with rage.

Dev smiled up at him, a humorless and bitter grimace. He _ had _ won then. He hadn’t been wrong.

“I won,” he rasped.

It felt a bit like a shallow victory, in some ways. His body still ached from Zorander’s spells, and he knew there was barely enough blood in his body to keep him going. His throat was parched and God was he hungry. But if Kienan was dead, then the Guard had a chance. His father had a chance. Peter had a chance. They would recover, even if he didn’t.

“I won,” he repeated, stronger this time. He glared up at Zorander with as much anger as he could manage. “You lost.”

Zorander roared. Dev had no time to prepare for the impact of Zorander’s fist with the side of his face. 

“How! How did they know?” The man was at his throat, fingers digging into his skin. “The spell was perfect! What did you do?”

Dev coughed around the pressure on this throat. “You underestimated them,” he snarled. The effort cost him, and he could feel what little remained of his strength waning. “You underestimated...Peter. He...knows me.”

Zorander hit him again, and Dev couldn’t hold back a whimper. He had tried to stay strong for so long, but there was no point now. He’d won. So why was he still fighting?

“You _ changed_!” Zorander slammed one hand down on Dev’s left arm--the one they had taken blood from--and Dev screamed. “You changed over those years, they all knew!” Angry fingers dug into the bloodied skin at Dev’s elbow.

“Stop, please--” Dev managed. God, everything hurt. It was over now, why wouldn’t Zorander just leave him alone. The spell still circulated in his muscles, and the pressure from Zorander’s fingers nearly plunged Dev back into darkness. 

“Not until you _ tell me!_” Zorander’s lips moved and Dev felt pain flair in his arm again.

He thrashed under Zorander’s grip, trying to escape that burning, searing pain. “_Peter!” _ He finally cried out. Zorander released him, and he lay there panting. He stared up at Zorander, letting his anger and hatred keep him awake. “Peter...knew...me.”

“He shouldn’t have been able to see. You’re lying!” Zorander clutched at his arm again, and Dev tried to pull away.

“No...no more…” He sucked in a breath as Zorander paused. “The stairs...I didn’t...fall.”

Zorander’s eyes went wide. “You bastard,” he whispered. “You _ bastard! _ You knew. You _ knew _ that would transfer.”

The shock on Zorander’s face was almost worth the pain from the slap that followed. 

“You underestimated..._ me_,” he spat. “I’m...the _ Captain of the Guard_...not some...pawn. Of course...I knew.” He swallowed, trying to stay conscious. “I knew from...the first moment...I know...blood shimmers.”

Zorander flew at him again, clamping a hand around his throat. “You will _ die _ for this.”

“I never...intended...to live.”

Zorander snarled. He jerked backwards and then brought both hands down on Dev’s arms.

Dev’s resolve broke. He knew he was going to die, he’d never really expected to get out of this. Not after the first week, not after Kienan left wearing his face. But _ God _ he didn’t want to go this way, didn’t want Zorander to send that spell through his body over and over and over again until he finally succumbed to the pain. A bullet would be better--infinitely better. 

“No!” His voice sounded weak, pathetic in his own ears. “No…please, just...kill me. Not...not like that. Please…”

Zorander slapped him again. It was harsh and it hurt like hell, scraping against already raw skin. But it was _ physical _\--not that phantom pain that burned from his bones outward.

“You’ll die _ my way_.” Zorander pulled back, both hands hovering over Dev.

An explosion echoed in the room, and Dev watched as Zorander’s face went slack. He fell forward onto Dev, jostling his weak and aching body. Pain flared white and brilliant, and Dev slipped beneath the waves.

* * *

_ “Peter!” _

Dev’s voice tore across Jakes’ consciousness. He jerked upright, his horror and sorrow at the blood shimmer shattering at his feet. His eyes searched the room. _ Endeavour _.

“Jakes?” Thursday’s worn voice brought Jakes back to the present.

“He’s here.” The realization washed over him, hot and cold. Hot, with the knowledge that Dev was _ here _ . Cold, with the fear of _ for how long._ “He’s here, sir.”

Thursday spun on his heel, searching the room. Dampness clung to the stones and to the air, dampness and rot and bone-chilling melancholy. 

Jakes’ eyes fell on the stairs and the streak of blood at the bottom and he _ remembered _.

“The stairs.” He pushed himself to his feet. “The stairs, sir. That day at the nick.”

Thursday’s eyes flashed to Jakes. Jakes could see the question there, and the despair. 

“When...when _ he _ \--” Jakes gestured to the dead man. “When he had that...fit.” Thursdays eyes flickered to the body on the floor. “Dev...he must have gotten free. He must have…” Jakes swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. _ God, _ he knew what Dev had done but how did he say it, to the man’s father. “He must have thrown himself...down the stairs.” He swallowed again, desperately trying to keep his composure. “He would have known, about...the shimmer. It works...both ways. What Dev felt, _ he _ would feel.”

Jakes saw hope creep onto Thursday’s face. “Then they might have...not harmed him?” The Old Man’s voice was brittle and cracked at the edges.

Jakes turned away. He couldn’t answer, not until they knew. He couldn’t tell Thursday that there were other ways to hurt a man that just beating him. Magic...Jakes shuddered. 

“He’s up there.” Jakes strode towards the stairs. “We need to get to him.”

He heard the dull echo of Thursday’s footfalls behind him. He took a deep breath, and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in. 

And then he ran.

* * *

The upstairs was a maze of hallways and bedrooms. Jakes wasn’t sure how they picked the right room on the first try. He liked to think it was Dev’s magic calling out to him, just as it had been all along. Whatever it was, they found the room. The found the room, and they found a white-haired wizard, and they found _ Dev_.

Jakes wanted to yell, to curse, to scream. _ Damn them _. But he couldn’t, not until they had a clear shot. 

He could barely make out the low cot on which Dev was laid, but he could see enough. The stand next to Dev that held an empty blood bag, ready to steal more of Dev’s blood. The handcuffs that kept Dev’s arms and ankles pinned to the bed. The bruises standing out on Dev’s pales skin where the metal had bit into him. The swelling around one wrist and ankle from his tumble down the stairs. The pale sheen of Dev’s skin.

And he could feel the magic crackling in the air. He prayed he wasn’t right.

“You underestimated..._ me_.” Dev’s voice was barely more than a pained whisper, but it echoed off the stone walls. “I’m...the _ Captain of the Guard _...not some...pawn. Of course...I knew.” Pride and hatred and anger mingled with pain in Dev’s voice, and Jakes tightened his hand on his gun. “I knew from...the first moment...I know...blood shimmers.”

The wizard’s hands closed over Dev’s neck. “You will _ die _ for this.”

Jakes forced his hand to stay still. He couldn’t shoot, not yet. Not until the man stood up. 

“I never...intended...to live.” Jakes closed his eyes against the finality in Dev’s voice. _ Selfless idiot. _

The wizard growled. He clamped both hands down on Dev’s arms, hard enough to bruise. Jakes saw the way Dev flinched from the touch. He heard the soft whimper. He saw Dev’s head turn away, saw the anguish on his face.

“No! No…please, just...kill me. Not...not like that. Please…”

The wizard slapped him again, and Jakes saw red. He surged forwards, gun up and ready to fire. He heard the shot, saw the wizard slump over Dev, heard Dev’s scream. It was only when he managed to remember to look for Thursday that he realized he hadn’t taken the shot. Thursday had.

Thursday stood there, his chest heaving. There was a look of fire and rage in his eyes, and no trace of guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I meant for them to actually get to Dev but I got side-tracked. Next chapter, I promise.
> 
> ...although that doesn't mean the next chapter is gonna be warm and fuzzy.
> 
> Also...there's a distinct possibility that there will be a follow up to this. I realized that I'm leaving these guys with a hell of a lot of trauma and I want to work through a bit of that. Plus, I'm running out of song lyrics. Whoops.
> 
> Spare a comment for a lonely writer? (Also, many thanks for all of your comments. They keep me going, seriously, and in more ways than just writing...)


	13. I Hurt Myself Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...warning for more angst and pain? Lots of pain. It'll get better soon, I promise...
> 
> Also, reading the comments made me realize that maybe I should have added the "angst with a happy ending" tag? Sorry about that...I haven't written an unhappy ending yet, and I don't intend to anytime soon. Rest assured, everyone will come out hale and healthy at the end of this.
> 
> It just...might take a while.

Fred fell to his knees next to the low bed, one hand reaching out to brush back the matted hair at Dev’s forehead. He could feel the rightness of it as soon as his fingers ghosted across Dev’s pale skin.  _ This was his son _ . It shamed him, cut him deeply that he’d managed to live next to that... _ monster _ while his son-- _ his son-- _ had lain down here, forgotten. 

And God  _ what had they done to the boy _ ?

Fred’s eyes roamed Dev’s body. Horror and revulsion washed over him, so strong that it made the room spin about him. There were fresh bruises at his throat and on his arms---livid imprints of fingers on his slender wrists and fragile neck. Blood had crusted Dev’s wrist near where Jakes’ was fighting with a rusty metal handcuff. Beaded and dried blood marked the places where needles had entered--needles that stole Dev’s precious lifeblood from his body. One wrist was swollen, and Fred felt the need to vomit at the thought of how long it had been twisted like that, broken. 

It was the sight of the fresh red scratch on the side of Dev’s face that broke Fred, though. That wizard hit him-- the  _ bastard _ \--hit him when he couldn’t fight back, could barely even speak. He had hit him because Dev had  _ begged _ the man to leave him alone. He’d pleaded and the bastard had  _ struck _ him.

Fred could feel the tears as they slipped down his face. He didn’t care. He’d lost his son for 15 years. He had  _ forgotten _ his oldest son, and he’d not had faith enough in Dev to see through that mockery of his spirit. And  _ this _ was the result. This broken, dying form in front of him.

If Dev died down here, Fred would never forgive himself.

“Endeavour...please.” His hands shook as he stroked his son’s forehead. “Please wake up. We came for you, son. You’re safe now.” 

Jakes swore at the metal handcuff, wrenching at it until it finally gave. Dev’s arm slipped off the bed, and Jakes reached for it. His fingers barely brushed Dev’s skin before he swore. He dropped Dev’s wrist and lept back.

Fred’s head jerked up. “Jakes?”

Jakes’ chest was heaving and his eyes were wide. “Oh...oh  _ God.”  _ He pressed the back of his hand against his lips. It was shaking.

Fred felt dread seep into his veins. “Jakes. Jakes, talk to me.”

Jakes eyes flashed up to meet his. Pain and horror swirled in their dark depths. He shook his head violently.  _ No. _

“Jakes.” Fred managed to pull strength from somewhere deep inside him, managed to grasp onto  _ Inspector _ . “You need to tell me what’s wrong.” 

“ _ Sczhieldengeothe,”  _ Jakes whispered.

“What?”

“ _ Sczhieldengoethe. _ ” He repeated. A shudder passed through him. “It’s a spell.” He swallowed convulsively a few times. His eyes flickered to the dead wizard on the floor. “It’s...they couldn’t hurt him. Not…” He nodded at the bruises. “Not like that. The loop...it works both ways.” Jakes shook his head. He moved to the foot of the bed, his fingers plucking at the cuffs there. 

The jerky way in which he moved served only to further Fred’s dread. He had never seen Jakes this shaken, save for shortly after Blenheim Vale.

“They couldn’t...beat him. Into submission.” Jakes freed one of Dev’s ankles with a jerk. He moved to the other, carefully avoiding touching Dev’s skin. “They had to…” Jakes’ hands clenched into fists. “ _ Damn them _ .” He squeezed his eyes shut, and Fred saw a tear escape. “It’s a torture spell, sir.” His eyes opened, meeting Fred’s. 

Even as cold panic doused Fred, he felt a stab of sympathy for Jakes. The man had never looked so young, so broken as he did in that moment. His voice was nearly a whisper when he spoke again.

“They tortured him, sir.” Jakes’ shoulders shook. “Oh,  _ God--Dev.” _

Fred’s vision swam, his head bowing low over Dev’s chest.  _ His son.  _ They...they had... _ Oh Christ. _

“How bad.” Fred managed to find the words. At Jakes’ silence, Fred’s head snapped up. “ _ How bad.” _

The last cuff clattered to the floor. Jakes shook his head. “Sir...what I know...It won’t help him. You don’t...you don’t need to know.”

Anger bubbled up inside him, hot and vicious and burning. The body in front of them--barely breathing and barely moving--it was  _ his son _ . He deserved to know. He needed to know.

“ _ Tell me.” _

Jakes stared at him a moment longer. The pain and sickness evident on Jakes’ face made Fred doubt his resolve. Jakes jerked forward, coming to rest next to Dev’s broken wrist. He worked for a moment in silence, eyes fixed on the cuff.

“I’ve never...I’ve only heard. It’s a wicked spell.” Jakes’ voice was low and halting. “No...no civilized magic user would dare to invoke it.” The cuff fell away, and Jakes’ fingers ghosted across Dev’s skin. He pulled back with a hiss. “I’ve only heard,” he repeated. “They say it...it feels like...like your bones are on fire. Like you’re burning from within. Like your skin and muscles are being torn from you. They say…” His shoulders jerked in a sob. “They say it’s worse than anything. Like electricity.”

Fred’s grip tightened on his son’s arm. He should feel something--anger, fear, sorrow--but he just felt  _ numb _ . It was as if he couldn’t reconcile this monstrosity with his son--with his Endeavour, smiling as he did “tricks” to entertain his siblings, laughing as they smiled up at him, confident as he lead his Guard--God, none of this was right.  _ None _ of it.

“It...it passes though, right?” He didn’t want to say the words, didn’t want to know the answer. But he had to know. Had to hope--pray, even-- that the pain they had inflicted on his son had been fleeting. That he had been able to rest. That….

“No.”

Fred jerked away from Dev. “ _ What _ ?”

Jakes’ eyes were fixed on Dev. They roamed his body, searching for something. “It lingers. That’s why...no one uses it.” His mouth twitched as his eyes settled on something. “It’s not physical, but the...effects are. It takes...it has to heal. Just like…” He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “He needs painkillers.  _ Now. _ And blood.” Jakes’ lips twitched again and Fred tried to follow his gaze.

“What are you looking at?”

Jakes pointed at Dev’s other arm. Fred watched for a moment, and then he saw it: a slight twitch in his hand, a jerk of his wrist, there and then still again.

“He’s waking up?” Fred searched Jakes’ face for answers.

Jakes shook his head. “It’s the spell. It...it can overwhelm their brains. Like electricity. If...if they use it...too much.”

Fred felt cold iron settle in his stomach.  _ God. _

“He’ll heal.” Jakes’ voice was stronger now, anger creeping around the edges of his disgust. “He’ll heal. But...he needs help. Now.” His eyes flickered to the blood bags nearby. “They’ve taken too much. He’s...it can kill him, sir, that spell. The pain...we’ve got to go.”

Fred nodded. He had to push this fear and sorrow and pain back, bottle it up inside. He could deal with it later, when his son wasn’t lying here, dying and in agony. He needed to be strong, to be the  _ Inspector _ and not the  _ father _ . Dev...Dev had to be just another victim right now.

Fred went to move, but suddenly Dev moaned beneath him.

“Endeavour?” Fred’s hand flew to Dev’s forehead.

“Dad…” Dev’s voice was soft and ragged. His eyes fluttered open, only to close again within seconds. “Thought I...heard you.” A small smile played at the corners of his chapped lips. He looked almost drunk, and Fred felt fear lance through him. “Wish...you were...here.” His hand twitched on the bed, fingers moving jerkily. Fred couldn’t suppress a shudder at the thought of that...that spell. “Wanted...to see you...before I...go.” 

“Dev, son, I’m here. I am. I’m right here.” Fred covered Morse’s hand in his own, gently closing his fingers around his son’s skeletal hand.

Endeavour jerked at the touch, as if waking from a dream. The fuzzy smile vanished from his face, replaced with fear.

“No!” His head rocked violently. “No, please...no more...please…” His voice was feverish and frantic. His eyes were wide open now, staring wildly into the darkness, unfocused and glassy. He flinched from Jakes as the man settled a hand around Dev’s wrist. “Please...I don’t have...I can’t... _ please _ .”

“Endeavour! Look at me!” Fred cupped one hand around the side of Dev’s face, stilling his fevered rocking. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

Dev shrank from his touch, horror flashing over his face. His eyes sought out those of his captor. Defiance flickered in his eyes, but it was nearly drowned out by pain and fatigue. Fred could feel the moment Dev finally recognized him. His body stiffened for one ugly moment, and then he went limp. 

“Dad.” 

“I’m right here, Endeavour. I’m right here.” He couldn’t keep the tears out of his voice. He didn’t care. His hand smoothed through Dev’s hair. “I’m right here. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

Dev’s lips quirked in a small smile. “Dad. I won. They….tried….I won.”

Fred shushed him. “Don’t talk. We’ll get you out.”

Suddenly Dev jerked. Anguish flashed across his face, followed by terror. “ _ Peter! Don’t!” _ Dev’s head rolled to the side, and he tugged weakly against Fred’s hold.

Fred’s head jerked up to Jakes. “What--Jakes! What in God’s name are you doing?”

Jakes had one hand wrapped around Dev’s wrist. His lips were moving slowly and his eyes were closed. For one terrible moment, Fred flashed back to... _ that man’s _ insistence that Jakes was the imposter. Then his mind registered the pain that lined Jakes’ face, and the thin sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead.

“I can...take some of his pain,” Jakes panted.

“No--Peter, stop.” Dev pulled his wrist weakly. “Peter...you can’t.”

“It’s... too much for you, Dev.” Jakes gasped.

“Dad!” Dev’s voice was weak, his eyes wild. “Dad...stop him...please...he can’t…”

Fred’s glanced between the two of them. What the hell was he supposed to do? He had no expertise here, no way of knowing what Jakes was doing--if it would hurt Dev or help him.

“He’s...trying to help you, son.” Fred smoothed his hand over Dev’s hair. “It’s alright.”

“No!” Dev struggled against Jakes’ hold. “No--it will...kill him. Peter... _ stop!” _

Dev’s movements were frantic and ill-coordinated. Fred could see the effort was costing him what little energy he had left.  _ Damn it. _ He’d always known Dev to be more concerned about others, but couldn’t he just let someone help him for once?

“Jakes…” Fred glanced up at his sergeant. He froze in shock at the sight of Jakes. His face had gone nearly grey, and there was a trickle of blood slipping down his face from his nose. Whatever the  _ hell _ he was doing, it wasn’t good. “Jakes! Stop!”

Jakes shook his head stubbornly. “I have to...help.”

“Dad! Please…”

Fred growled. He heaved himself to his feet and rushed around the bed. Jakes didn’t appear to notice him, didn’t appear to hear him. Fred grabbed him by his shaking shoulders and wrestled him away from Dev. Jakes struggled weakly against him. 

“Sergeant! Stand down!  _ Stand down. _ ”

Jakes finally stilled. His chest was heaving and blood was still trailing down his face. 

“I can’t get you both out of here, Jakes.”

Jakes swallowed harshly. “He can’t...it’s too much pain. I have to--”

“ _ Jakes _ .” Fred shook him roughly. “I know you want to help him, but he’s fighting. We need to get him out of here.”

Jakes ran his arm shakily across his face, staining his shirt a rusty red. He nodded. His eyes flicked over Fred’s shoulder.

“Dev---Dev!” Jakes’ body stiffened and he shoved past Fred. “Dev! God, no--”

Fred pivoted on his heel. Icy terror stabbed his heart as he saw his son---pale, unmoving, and limp. “No…”

“Dev!” Jakes shook Endeavour roughly by the shoulder. “God dammit, Dev, don’t do this to me--to us. Not now!” 

But Dev’s eyes stayed stubbornly shut. Jakes glanced up at Fred, something wild and terrified in his eyes. Jakes shook his head. 

“No, no, no. Endeavour!” He grabbed the younger man by the chin, trying desperately to rouse him. It was to no avail. Endeavour had slipped beyond their reach. “Sir--” Jakes turned to Fred.

“Is he alive.” Fred wasn’t even sure how he managed to force the words out.

Jakes hand sought Dev’s pulse. He nodded curtly. “Barely.”

Fred swallowed.  _ Be Inspector Thursday _ . It was the only way out.

“Jakes, get to the car. Radio for an ambulance. We’ll meet them halfway.” Jakes hesitated, and  _ Inspector Thursday _ surged forward. “Go. Now!”

Jakes jumped away from Dev. “Sir.” He nodded sharply before disappearing down the stairs.

_ Fred _ fell to his knees again next to his son. He slid one arm under Dev’s shoulders, the other under his knees. It took entirely too little effort to pull Dev close to him and heave them both upright. Fred swallowed over the lump in his throat and offered up a prayer that they would be  _ in time. _

And then he carried his son out of that God-forsaken stone hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opinion time!
> 
> Shall I write a sequel OR just keep the "sequel" in this story? It will get written either way, I just cant decide if I want to put it all in here or have a secondary "comfort and recovery story".
> 
> Also, chapter titles are now coming from [ Hurt](https://youtu.be/8AHCfZTRGiI) by Johnny Cash. Apparently, this story is giving me unexpected-songs-by-Johnny-Cash feels. 
> 
> Anyhow...sorry for the pain? Heh... Feel free to scream at me in the comments...I love it. (Oh, also, feel free to suggest comforty-bits that you want to see in the future of this disaster)


	14. Remember Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the leave of absence, y'all.  
Fun fact about me: writing is a major coping mechanism for me. It's an escape that also allows me to feel productive, and project my pain onto characters who receive comfort. This means that sometimes I write more when I feel like shit. Anyhow, I've felt like a normal human for the better part of two weeks now and have been busy doing normal human things rather than hiding in fanfic. :)
> 
> However, I had some off time to relax and write, rather than hide and write, so here's another chapter for you! Don't worry, I won't ever abandon this! 
> 
> Oh! Also! If you haven't already, please, please, _ please _ go read [ Suspicion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21226412). It's by the lovely Hekate1308, who invented this AU and whose story inspired this one. It's an absolutely _ amazing _ "missing scenes" bit that fits into this story and I love it _ so much. _

Jakes rubbed the back of his hand angrily across his face. He glared at the blood smeared on his hand and his shirt. He cursed at his own body's weakness and Dev’s bloody stubbornness. Why wouldn’t the idiot just let him  _ help _ . 

Jakes was no Healer, but he knew a few spells that could have transferred Dev’s pain to his own body. It wouldn’t be much, but it would have been  _ something _ . He had encountered victims of  _ sczhieldengoethe _ only about three times. That was three times too many. Only one of those had survived. The other two had been overwhelmed by the pain and fatigue; their bodies had simply shut down, nervous systems unable to handle the barrage of pain signals.

No one was quite sure how the magic of the spell interacted with the physical body, but it was clear enough that it would leave behind lingering muscle and bone pain, along with muscle spasms and twitches. Often these would fade, just as with any physical injury, but the healing process was slow. Slow enough that Jakes knew of a few victims who had gone mad from the combination of the torture and the after effects of the spell.

Jakes cursed out loud and slammed his hand into the steering wheel.  _ Damn _ Dev’s stubbornness and  _ damn _ Zorander’s madness.

“Sergeant!” The sharpness of Fred Thursday’s tone brought Jakes back to the present. His eyes flicked up to the mirror. He bit back another curse as he took in the two Thursdays huddled in the back.

Fred had Dev pulled close to his chest, one hand absently stroking along Dev’s arm. The other was wrapped around Dev’s wrist, keeping track of his weakening pulse. Dev looked like nothing more than an abandoned rag doll. His torn shirt was covered in dirt and blood, his trousers scuffed and tattered as well. The bastards had taken his shoes, and his hair was matted with dirt and sweat.

Fred’s face was haggard and gray. He stared down at his son with anguished eyes. “Focus on the road, Jakes.” His toneless voice sent shivers down Jakes’ spine.

Jakes’ knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. He wished to  _ God _ that he could be in that back seat, that he could at least  _ try _ to take Dev’s pain. 

The radio crackled to life, startling both of them. “ _ Four minutes to intercept,”  _ a disembodied voice reported.

Fred glanced up sharply, meeting Jakes’ eyes. “How can they know that?”

Jakes ducked his head. “We have people in the hospital, sir. The Guard, that is.” Fred raised his eyebrows. “It pays to have people who can be discreet about the injuries we encounter on the job. And track a target.” He paused. “I asked for a Healer--she’s one of the nurses at the hospital. She would know…” Jakes swallowed.  _ God _ , every time he thought about what Dev had been through in the last three weeks, he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “She would know how to deal with the effects of a  _ sczhieldengoethe. _ ”

Fred’s arms tightened around Dev. “Why?” His eyes were focused on Dev’s face again. Jakes knew Fred wasn’t looking for an answer--at least, not from him. “Why...why did they do that to him?” His voice trailed off, and Jakes barely caught the last whispered words: “My son…”

A heavy silence settled around them, dark and full of fear. There were no easy answers, no answers that really touched upon the depravity of human beings or the forces that drove them to inflict pain on each other. Jakes well knew that Zorander didn’t have to resort to such extremes. There were more than enough ways to keep a victim incapacitated for a blood shimmer, ways that wouldn’t damage the host.  _ Sczhieldengoethe _ was a hellish spell; its use was personal, vindictive, and barbaric . 

Dev deserved none of it.

* * *

The ambulance lights bathed the lonely street in a warm light that belied the desperation in Jakes’ voice as he shouted for the Healer. He’d wrenched the door open for Fred, and then staggered towards the ambulance. He tried to push aside his own lightheadedness, and the steady ache in his ribs and wrist from that damn house collapse. He could worry about himself later. Dev’s pulse was dangerously low.

“ _ Sczhieldengoethe, _ ” he gasped out, grabbing desperately at the dark-skinned nurse’s hand. “They used  _ sczhieldengoethe _ .” 

Monica gasped, horror overtaking her face. “ _ My God _ ,” she whispered. She shook her head and pressed her lips together. “What else?”

Paramedics rushed by him, and Jakes could hear Fred shouting at them-- _ take him, Goddammit. Get him help. Save him, do you understand me? _

“They were trying a blood shimmer. He’s lost too much blood, it was nearly complete.”

Monica’s eyes flashed to where they were laying Dev out on a stretcher. “Christ. What about the host?”

“Dead.” Jakes shuddered. He could still see that face-- that looked  _ so much _ like Dev--as it contorted in pain, eyes full of shock and fear. He could still feel the sharp sting of guilt when he realized that Dev...that Dev had  _ felt that _ . “I killed him.”

Monica squeezed his hand. “Oh, Commander.” Jakes nodded, unable to say anything. “It had to be done. You know that.”

He did. God, did he know. Blood shimmers would eventually kill the victim, that was the whole point. A shimmer spell, that was used for short term masquerades. Blood shimmers...blood shimmers were meant to make the host  _ become _ the victim, in every way except mentally. Once started, either the victim or the host had to die. They couldn’t both survive.

But  _ knowing _ that wouldn’t stop the images of Dev’s blood on his hand, his knife in Dev’s heart, his hands beating at Dev’s body. He  _ knew _ it wasn’t really Dev. But he couldn’t unsee the pain on that face or the fear in those eyes. He couldn’t stop seeing the blood as it trickled from that mouth. He couldn’t get rid of the knowledge that Dev--the real Dev--had felt  _ every single blow. _

“Commander.” Monica’s voice pulled him from his nightmares. “I’ve got him. We’ll do our best, alright?”

He nodded. They were loading Dev into the back of the ambulance, shouting medical terms and stringing up IVs. Fred hovered just at the back of the van. He glanced back at Jakes, a question obvious in his eyes. 

Jakes cleared his throat. “You go, sir. You need to be with him. He’s...he’s your son.”

Fred nodded and Jakes could see the gratitude in his eyes.

A wave of nausea washed over him, and Jakes staggered a bit as Monica went to follow them into the ambulance.

“Commander?” Her voice was sharp, and Jakes looked up to see suspicion in her eyes. “Oh. Tell me you didn’t.” He nodded. “Damn it, Jakes, you should know better! And you just out of hospital.” She shook her head. “I don’t have time for this. Get in the front.”

“I can---”

“You can take orders for once in your life. Get in the front. Now.”

He couldn’t just leave the car in the road like that. But neither could he ignore the pounding in his head, nor the pull to follow Dev. He nodded again, and moved towards the ambulance. His eyes fell closed as he rested his head on the seat. The ambulance lurched forwards.

In the back, he could hear Monica’s calm voice underneath the panic of the medics.

Jakes prayed, for what seemed like the thousandth time, that they could save him.

* * *

There were hands on him again. Too many hands-- hands that were burning hot, hands that were tugging at his shirt, hands that were tugging at his arm, hands that were prodding his veins and-- _ no! Not again! _

The sharp sting of a needle pulled him from his stupor. It felt like a knife slicing across the damaged skin of his left arm. He tried to shout at them to  _ leave him alone _ , but he only felt a whimper in his throat. He tried to beat at them with his good arm, but someone was holding him down. He tried to open his eyes, to see what they were doing to him, but bright lights burned his eyes and he pulled back from the glare.

There were too many voices and sounds and smells--too much, too much, too  _ much _ . He’d been in darkness and quiet for so long, he couldn’t process this, couldn’t focus, couldn’t  _ think _ . He thought he remembered visions Jakes and his father, he thought he had been dying--finally, blessedly,  _ at last _ . He remembered the feeling of the shimmer ending, remembered the peace of knowing that he’d won. So why were they still  _ after him _ . Why wouldn’t they let him be, let him rest, let him  _ die already _ .

Then there was a hand on his cheek. It was warm, calloused, and somehow  _ comforting _ . It didn’t  _ hurt _ . 

There was a voice in his ear. It was low, quiet, and  _ familiar _ . It reminded him of his childhood.

There was a smell of tobacco and vanilla candles in his nose. It reminded him of  _ mother _ and  _ father _ and  _ home _ .

He couldn’t make out the words that the voice was saying, couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t understand what was happening. But he knew that he was safe. That touch, that voice, that  _ smell _ . He couldn’t remember what they meant, but he remembered them from when he was young. Remembered hiding in them when he’d gotten into fights at school. Remembered yearning for them when his world had been turned upside-down. Remembered that they meant  _ peace _ and  _ safety _ and  _ warm _ .

He let the feeling wash over him. He let his body relax. And he met the growing darkness without uncertainty, without agony, and without fear.

* * *

Fred had held himself together, from the moment he’d seen that unfamiliar face lying dead on the stones instead of Endeavour up until now. He had watched as Jakes fell apart at the sight of black blood, watched as that bastard collapsed with a bullet from his gun, watched as Jakes struggled to release Dev’s battered wrists and ankles. 

He felt as if it had been someone else’s hand that pulled the trigger, someone else’s fingers that brushed through Dev’s tangled hair, someone else’s heart that ached, someone else’s arms that handed Dev to the medics. There had been a thick wall of glass separating  _ Fred Thursday _ from  _ Detective Inspector _ , keeping  _ father _ away from  _ copper _ . It was like the war all over again, watching horrors unfold around him as if he were watching a movie on the screen. 

He gave orders to the medics with reflexes forged years ago in mud and gunsmoke and blood. He followed them blindly, clambered into the too-bright and too-loud vehicle without a second thought. He stuffed himself in a corner on instinct, knowing to stay well out of the way of hands that knew what to do. He watched them as they worked.

And then Endeavour cried out, and the glass shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently Monica wanted into this story. :D  
Just as a heads up, I'm not planning on introducing any specific ships into this story. I'm honestly really enjoying writing the deep platonic bond between Dev and Peter, as well as the familial bonds in the Thursday family. Plus, since I'm playing in Hekate1308's sandbox, I don't want to introduce a ship that they might not be comfortable with. Apologies for anyone hoping for a ship. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this! There's more angst to come (see: Fred and Jakes trying to explain to Win and Joan what the hell has been going on) and eventually some comfort. Drop a comment if you liked anything! :)


	15. Everyone I know Goes Away (In the End)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi-ho, hello again!  
The most recent delay in updates was brought to you by several days of rather stubborn arm pain (the kind that inspired poor Dev's suffering). Thankfully, it's finally faded and I can...  
....rip your hearts out?  
*nervous laughter*

_ Inpsector Thursday _ fell away from him, like discarded armor. The battle was over--at least, the part of it in which he could participate. He had his son-- the _ real _ Endeavour Thursday. They found him. They rescued him. They _ had _ him.

He felt naked, exposed, and vulnerable without that armor. He _ hurt _ now, hurt in a way he hadn’t known was possible. It was as if every bruise and scratch and tear on Endeavour’s body was carved into his soul. Fathers weren’t meant to see their sons like this. They weren’t supposed to fear their children’s death as a reality. They weren’t supposed to watch frantic nurses fumble over a too-pale and too-still body.

The war had forged a hard, tough exterior. Fred had no idea what to do without it. No idea how to act, how to feel, how to _ exist. _ He didn’t know what he was supposed to be when his_ son _ was in danger. He knew what to do when his _ bagman _ was in this condition, he’d been there before.

He had never been here before.

There was one thing that was clear in his mind, thought. When his children cried out, he would be there. He’d been there when Joanie had fallen off her bicycle; Fred had come running from the front hallway when he heard her sobs. He’d been there when Sam had twisted his ankle falling over his own toy truck; Fred had nearly fallen down the stairs in his haste to get to his son. He’d been there when Endeavour had cut himself while peeling potatoes; Fred had heard him from the garden and held a towel to the bleeding finger until Dev stopped crying.

And he could be there now.

Fred shouldered past a nurse, ignoring the man’s protest. 

“Endeavour, lad, it’s okay.” He ran his hand over Dev’s hair, like he had when Endeavour had been ill with a fever. “You’re safe, you’re in an ambulance.” He bent low over Dev, trying to keep the light out of his fluttering eyes. Dev whimpered. He shifted slightly, angling himself towards Fred. His frantic movements slowed. “That’s it, son, that’s it.”

“Keep talking to him, Inspector.” Fred looked up into the face of a hovering nurse. _ Monica _ , his mind supplied. “I’d rather not sedate him, what with the trauma his body has been through.” She was running her hands over Endeavour’s body, barely touching him. _ Healer_, he remembered. “He’s responding to you, that’s a good thing.”

Fred nodded. “Endeavour, it’s me, it’s your father. You’ll be okay.” _ God, _ he hoped that was true. “Just...relax, lad. Let them work.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Fred saw a nurse with a needle move towards Dev’s left arm. Endeavour flinched from the touch, and Fred could see panic flair in his pale face again.

“Stop!” The whole ambulance froze, all eyes turned towards Fred. “They...they used that arm, to take blood from him. He thinks that’s what you’re doing.”

Understanding ignited in Monica’s eyes. “Of course. Charles, try the other arm. Be gentle.”

Dev relaxed slightly when the hand left his arm. Fred shuffled a bit, giving the nurse some room. He refused to let go of his son, though.

“It’s alright, Dev. Let them work. They won’t hurt you, I promise. I won’t let them.” Dev stiffened as the needle slipped under his skin, but he kept his face turned towards Fred. “It will be okay. You’re safe, son. I promise.”

The nurses worked around him, and Fred let them fall into the background. He kept up a litany of calming words, sometimes not even sure of what he was saying. He wasn’t sure if he was praying, or trying to calm himself. He just knew that if he stopped, if he stopped talking and started _ thinking _ , then everything would set in. The reality of this night, of the past weeks, of what the future might look like after _ this_.

Fred kept talking, kept touching his son. He kept one hand wrapped around the boy’s wrist, unconsciously feeling for that sluggish beating of his heart. That slow pulse was everything to him. As long as he could feel that, he could believe that they would come through this. As long as Dev’s heart kept beating, they had a chance. His words matched that slow tempo, his hope clung to that faint thrum of life. Fred’s world narrowed to Dev’s heartbeat. 

Fred Thursday was the first to notice when the world ended--silently and without fanfare, in the back of that ambulance as it sped through Oxford. 

* * *

Jakes sat in the front of the ambulance, twisted around so that he could stare in the back. He wanted to be back there, with Dev, but he knew he would be in the way. He wanted to stay close to his friend, his boss, his partner--but he knew his own body would betray him. 

There was no way he would admit to the pounding of his head, the rebelling of his stomach, the aching of day-old injuries or the racing of his heart. He knew what damage the falling house had done, he was aware of the cracked ribs from his fight with..._ that man _ . And he knew full well what he had done when he’d tried to take Dev’s pain. The spell they’d used on Dev was malicious, and he could feel it creeping through his own veins. It sparked along his spine with far less venom than how it coursed through Dev, but it still _ hurt_.

He wouldn’t take his eyes off of Dev, though. Jakes watched as Inspector Thursday hovered over his son, watched as he calmed Dev’s panic, watched as Thursday bullied the nurses. Jakes felt himself melt into the seat, his eyes barely able to stay open. Dev was safe. Jakes...he had to trust that Thursday would look out for Dev. There was nothing more he could do, but watch.

Jakes knew the moment everything went wrong. He saw it in his governor’s face, in the horror-stricken look that Jakes had seen in the faces of countless families come to identify a body. It was an expression that he hoped never to see on Thursday’s face, and it was an expression that would haunt him to the end of his days. 

Jakes’ eyes flickered to Dev’s chest, willing the man to breathe. It was still, unmoving, _ silent_.

He heard Thursday’s roar of anguish, watched him turn frantic eyes to the paramedics. Jakes heard Monica barking orders, watched her hands as they yanked supplied from the shelves. He heard the nurses panic, watched them push Thursday to the side. 

He heard his own voice--ragged and broken and _ scared _\--as he screamed his friend’s name.

_ Endeavour! _

* * *

The scene played out in a twisted parody of the last time they had been here--paramedics frantically trying to get Endeavour into the hospital, to safety, to medicine and doctors and _ hope_.

But this time it was _ Fred _ who was holding _ Jakes _ back. This time it was Jakes who was beside himself, trying to claw his way through anyone in his way. This time it was Jakes who slumped bonelessly against the wall as Dev disappeared into the hospital. 

Fred clutched at Jakes’ arms, barely supporting him even as he struggled to control his own trembling body. They had gotten Endeavour back, but only just. His heart was beating again, his lungs working sluggishly to keep what little blood remained full of oxygen. The lad was unresponsive, though. Not even Monica, with her skillful hands and healing magic, had been able to bring him back to the present.

Fred knew enough--and so did Jakes--to know that wasn’t good. Endeavour’s heart was beating, but both of them were haunted by the same question: _ for how long? _

They stood there, shaking and barely breathing, for what felt like hours. Warm hands and a firm voice startled Fred, and he nearly lost his hold on Jakes.

“Come inside.” Monica tugged at Jakes, her concerned eyes flickering over him. “We need to get you seen to, Commander.”

Jakes shook his head, muttering something indecipherable. 

Monica only tightened her hold. She glanced over her shoulder at Fred. “I’ll get him to a room, then we’ll get an update on Endeavour.”

“Why aren’t you with him?” Fred hadn’t meant it to be an accusation. But she was the Healer, that was what Jakes said, wasn’t it? She...she should be with him, shouldn’t she? Saving him? _ Healing _ him?”

“I cannot fix everything, Inspector.” She smiled sadly at him. “Magic...it cannot knit broken bones back together, nor replace lost blood. I can sense what is broken, pinpoint what needs fixed.” She tugged Jakes forward, and Fred followed without realizing that he was moving. “I can soothe fevered minds and drain much of the pain from a body.”

Monica ran a hand over Jakes’ leg--the one he was favoring--and Fred saw his limp fade. “I can encourage a body to heal. But what your son needs now are doctors of the body. He needs blood, and he needs his bones to be reset, and he needs bruises seen to. I’ve told them what his injuries are. I cannot do more, until he is stabilized or the doctors call for me.” A shadow passed over her face. “It is...not good when they call for me. I can do little in surgery except…ease the transition from this world into the next.”

By the time she had finished speaking, they’d reached a small room. She gently guided Jakes to the bed. “Here, I can work.” She regarded Jakes with exasperation mixed with fondness. “He is foolish but loyal. Let me do what I can for him, and then we shall see if we can find answers about the Captain.”

It grated on Fred’s nerves, to stand there in the dim light and do _ nothing _. But Monica’s voice was soothing like warm honey, and he knew Jakes was in a bad way. The man had lapsed into an uneasy silence, his breathing ragged and his face far too pale. His eyes were haunted and unfocused. 

Monica’s hands moved towards Jakes, a spell ready on her lips.

“Healer!” A desperate shout made them all start. “Healer--Monica where the bloody _ hell _ are you?” A frantic young nurse dashed into the room, her cap askew and panic written on her face. “They need you in surgery, Monica. _ Now. _ For the Captain.”

Icy fear stabbed into Fred’s heart as Monica rushed from the room. Her words were like red-hot bullets in his mind: _ I can do little except ease the transition from this world into the next _. Dimly, he heard Jakes moan. Distantly, he heard pounding feet and frantic shouts.

Fred found himself in the corridor, staring at unyielding steel doors, with no memory of walking there.

He stared at those doors, and felt the world crashing down around his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: It's all gonna be okay. I promise. I do not write major character deaths. I will always write a happy ending. It will get better.  
Eventually.
> 
> Want to know what happens next? Check out [ let him live ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388021) by the wonderful guardianoffun. It's a delightful (torturous?) snippet from Jakes POV.
> 
> Hopefully another chapter up soon! Bless you all for your comments <3 They keep me upright and writing. :)


	16. I Will Let You Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, go check out [ let him live ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388021) by guardianoffun. It's a wonderful look at Jakes' POV between this chapter and the previous chapter.

Fred Thursday stood there in that dim, still hospital room, wondering when the hell he had gotten so old. It seemed only yesterday that he would have been the one in that bed, dragged off of a case gone wrong. Or at the very least, the one sagged in the nearby chair, exhausted after nearly killing himself trying to save his fellow officer. But not now. 

Now, his son was lying there, fighting for his life. Now, his own sergeant was dozing in the chair, recovering from his own injuries. Now, Fred was an Inspector who had almost lost two officers. Now, Fred was a father, forced to watch as his son nearly died twice in one night.

Wearily, he rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t like this, this worrying bit. He had always been a man of action, even in the war. Fighting and directing and taking the risks. He’d gotten used to ordering his men into danger. But this...this was beyond that. This was beyond anything he had ever expected--magic and spells and a fight he had very little part in. Hell, he hadn’t even really known there was anything wrong for two weeks. _ Christ_.

Fred glanced over at Jakes. The young sergeant was sprawled limply across the chair, his shirt and tie askew and blood drying on his sleeves. The poor bastard had been beside himself when Fred had gone to tell him that Monica had saved Dev. Jakes hadn’t seemed aware of where he was. The echoes of his cries still rang in Fred’s mind, and the memory left a sour taste in his mouth. Blenheim Vale was still a phantom that haunted them all, but for Jakes it had seemed almost real for a few moments there. 

Jakes had nearly collapsed when Fred had guided him into Dev’s room. He couldn’t blame the lad, really. They’d both feared the worst when Monica had rushed from the room. From what she had told him, their fears weren’t far from the truth.

That cursed spell had left pain circulating through Endeavour’s system that seemed to spark at the slightest provocation. When the doctor had tried to reinsert an IV line to get much needed blood into Endeavour’s body, the sensation had overwhelmed the boy. His heart had stopped twice more; they had only _ just _managed to bring him back.

Monica had been called to put Endeavour into a “healing trance” as she called it. As near as Fred could figure out, it was the equivalent of a medical coma. 

_ “I’ve insulated his body from the pain for a time. It will allow him to heal, without his nerves being overwhelmed by the pain signals.” _ Monica’s voice had been soothing, her deft fingers gliding over Jakes’ body as she explained to Fred. _ “His physical body has been through too much, and it needs a chance to begin to repair the damages from three weeks of neglect.” _

Each word had felt like a soft blow to Fred’s already battered heart. They were doing the best for him, and that made the hits easier to take. But the reality was that his son--_ his Endeavour _ \-- had been abandoned, unloved, and abused for _ three bloody weeks_. How was he to deal with that, as a father? How would Endeavour react, once he had woken? He would have every right to be angry with them for leaving him.

It didn’t help to know that when they finally brought Dev out of that magical trance, the pain would be waiting for him. Monica couldn’t remove it, only insulate him from it until his body was stronger, and then soothe it as best as she could later. He would still have to deal with it, still have to wait until his bones and muscles and skin healed from whatever horror that spell had wrought upon them.

Fred moved slowly to the head of the bed. He lay one hand gently on Endeavour’s forehead.

“I’m so sorry, son.” His hand moved slowly over Dev’s curls. How Win loved that hair, and how Fred loved her the more for it. Dev had his mother’s hair--his birth mother’s hair--red and fiery and wild. As he had grown older, some of the Thursday brown had tempered that gold fire, but the wildness remained. Win could have hated it--should have, had she been any normal woman. Those untameable curls spoke of another woman’s child. And yet Win loved that hair as much as she loved the boy.

_ God, Win. _ Fred’s hand stilled. He needed to call Win. He needed… _ oh, God. _

Fred made a choked sound in the back of his throat. How was he supposed to do this? To tell his family...his children...his _ wife _…

It was suddenly too much--the smell of antiseptic, the beeping and whirring of machines, the sight of his son’s broken body lying there. 

Fred turned and fled from the room.

* * *

Jakes found him in the hall ten minutes later. Fred was leaning on his knees, staring blankly at the floor and pointedly ignoring the cooling cup of weak hospital tea that sat next to him. 

“What...what do I tell Win? And the kids?” Fred turned to Jakes as he heard Jakes’ tentative footsteps. How did he tell them--how could he even begin to explain any of this? They thought...they thought he and Endeavour and Jakes had gone out on a case tonight. They didn’t even know that he hadn’t left with Dev--not their Endeavour, at least.

He looked up at Jakes, and saw his own horror reflected back in his eyes.

“Joanie...and Sam…” Fred’s voice broke. “And Win, oh_ God _ , Jakes.” He buried his head in his hands and sank into a chair. It grated on him, being this vulnerable in front of his sergeant. But Jakes had become so much more than that recently, hadn’t he? The man was Endeavour’s best friend, and the only one who apparently had the presence of mind to see through the facade. “Jakes...I don’t even...I don’t understand any of this, not really. Not beyond... _ three weeks _ . How do I explain to them that he’s been gone for _ three weeks_? That we’ve been living with a stranger for the last two weeks? That...that _ spell_? I don’t…” He trailed off, staring at the floor in front of him.

The chair beside him creaked as Jakes sat. Fred glanced up at Jakes and _ Christ, _ but the man looked ill.

“I can...I could come with you, sir.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I know...you’ve done this before. Giving...bad news and all. But...it’s...this is your family.” His eyes flickered up to Fred’s. “I’ve...I’ve had to talk to a few before. From...from the Guard. And Dev and I…” He trailed off, his jaw working against emotions that Fred knew far too well. “We’ve had a few _ sczhieldengoethe _ cases before. I...I’ve done it. This.” Jakes hands waved helplessly. “_Christ_, sir.”

Fred nodded. “_Christ_.”

Jakes glanced up at him. “Would you...like me to?” He glanced down the hall at the two Guard members standing at attention outside Dev’s door. Fred knew there were at least two more stationed outside below his window. “If I stay here, I’ll end up getting thrown out.”

“Win may not let you leave.”

Something dark flashed in Jakes’ eyes. “I don’t know that I want to be on my own tonight, sir.”

Fred’s heart broke for the young man. It wasn’t that long ago, it seemed, that he had been that young, facing down horrors that he had never imagined. He could still remember how lost he felt, the first time he’d stood by the injured body of one of his mates from the war. They were lessons hard learned, and he wished he could ease Jakes’ pain.

Though what Jakes had to endure these two weeks--being the only one brave enough to voice his concerns, and then bloody _ shoving a knife _ between the ribs of someone who looked exactly like his best friend... _ God. _ There was nothing-- _ nothing _\-- from Fred’s early days that could compare to that particular horror. HIs imagination failed him, and Fred laid a heavy hand on Jakes’ shoulder.

“You did well, lad.”

The anguish deepened in Jakes’ dark eyes. “Sir--I...I...sir, I _ stabbed _ him.”

“No. You stabbed a monster, Jakes. You _ saved _ Endeavour. You did what you had to to keep your man safe. That’s what we do, lad. That’s what _ you _ do, the both of you.”

“But the spell...he _ felt _ that. On top of everything, he---” Jakes broke off with a low wail, burying his head in his hands. His shoulders shuddered with silent sobs under Thursday’s hand. “I hurt him, sir.”

“Peter.” Jakes’ head snapped up at the sound of his first name. “_ They _ hurt him. You saved him.” Fred squeezed Jakes’ shoulder. “He doesn’t blame you. Neither do I. You did...dammit, Jakes.” Fred took a steadying breath. “I couldn’t have done that. I _ wouldn’t _ have. You’re the only reason he’s still here, Peter.” Fred closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to think about _ what could have happened_. 

Jakes stared at him for a long moment. Exhaustion had etched hard lines into his forehead, and fear had painted deep bruises under his eyes. “I just wanted him back, sir. I didn’t mean to hurt him.” The words were so quiet, Fred almost missed them.

“I know, lad, I know. And you got him back. _ You _ got him back, Peter.” Fred swallowed his own misery, his own failures. “You were the only one who believed in him. You were the only one of us strong enough to see through that. You did what you had to do. You brought your Captain home.” He rubbed Jakes’ shoulder. “You brought your friend home, sergeant. That’s what matters.”

Jakes glanced back down the hallway. “Do you think he will forgive me?”

Fred’s breath caught in his throat because, _ God_, would he? Certainly, Endeavour would forgive Jakes--Fred knew that without a second guess. Jakes hadn’t stopped fighting for Dev. But would he forgive his own parents, who couldn’t see through that frankly awful facade? Would he forgive Joanie and Sam for teasing some imposter? Would he forgive Strange and Bright and the rest of the Guard?

Fred shook his head. He knew the answer, damn it. He knew the answer, and if he’d spent any time at all over the last few weeks thinking about his own damn son, he would have seen through the blasted shimmer. Because Dev was _ good _. He’d been hurt badly by the Army of Morality, and he’d come through it with a forgiveness and grace that shocked even Win. Endeavour had his faults, but underneath his prickliness he had a heart that mirrored both of his mother’s spirits: strong and pure and golden.

“Peter, there’s is nothing to forgive.” He said the words with conviction. “You saved him, lad.” Fred waited until Jakes had turned to look at him with wide eyes. “I’ll never be able to thank you for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm done hurting everyone now. Granted, they still have to deal with all the trauma of what has happened, so we aren't *quite* to the comfort yet. The next chapter will feature some rather painful conversations with the Thursday family. And poor Jakes...*sigh*
> 
> Thanks so much for all of your comments. <3 I love reading them, and re-reading them. Sorry that I'm a little slow to respond sometimes--know that I read them immediately and smile for hours after.
> 
> Also--pleaseeeeee drops some favorite comfort tropes that you would like to see! I tend to try and balance out the hurt that I've caused with a near-equal measure of comfort, and I"d love to hit some of your favorites. :) 
> 
> Until next time, my friends!


	17. Full of Broken Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody has to tell the rest of the family about what happened tonight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought the last chapter was emotionally intense....

Jakes clenched his hands into fists, trying to focus on the feeling of his nails biting into his palms. He followed the Inspector up the path to the Thursday family home, and wondered why the _ hell _ he had offered to do this. Why he thought he _ could _ do this. It had been hard enough all those times before. But then he had been able to keep his distance. He had been able to recognize that he was talking about someone else, someone he didn’t know, someone he had no connection with. It was never _ easy _ , talking about victims, when they had been hurt viciously. And _ especially _when they had been hurt for no real reason beyond the fact that they were alive.

But this was _ Endeavour _ for God’s sake. This was a man with whom Jakes had worked closely for _ years _. This was a man who had saved him so many times--from vampires and criminals and from himself. Jakes had been there for Dev when the horrible reality of his life had been too much. Jakes had been there when Dev first came back from working with a man who was no longer his father, but just another Inspector. And Dev had been there on all those inky black nights when Jakes had nearly drowned in his own memories.

This was _ Endeavour Thursday, _for Christ’s sake. And somehow, Jakes thought he could talk about what they had put him through as if he were just another victim.

He wasn’t sure that he could. 

* * *

“Where’s Dev?”

It was Joanie that met them in the hallway, her bright eyes peering behind them as she tried to catch sight of her brother. Jakes felt himself pull back from her question, even as he tried to keep his face neutral. He caught sight of something wary in her eyes, though, something that made him wonder if she had really been as convinced by the shimmer as she pretended.

Win peered around the doorway next, her sharp gaze sweeping over both of them. Her eyes focused in on the blood smudged on her husband’s shirt and across Jakes’ arm. Win surged forward, concern etched in her face.

“Fred! What happened? Are you two alright?”

The Inspector pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. Jakes hung back awkwardly, not sure of his place in this home without Dev.

Joan’s expression darkened. “Dad? Where’s Dev?”

“He’s alright,” Jakes heard himself say. “He’ll be alright. It...it’s been...a long night.”

Fred pulled back from his wife, and her eyes searched his face. Jakes could only imagine what she might find there--the horror, pain, sorrow--too many emotions to name.

“Let’s have a sit down, Win.” Fred ran a hand over his face. “Christ, I need a drink.”

Somehow they managed to get everyone into the sitting room. Sam was the only one absent, off at a friends house for the night. Jakes didn’t envy whoever would have to tell him. Fred poured each of them a whisky, before sitting wearily down onto the couch.

“Jakes...I can’t..._ Christ_.” Fred shook his head. “I’ve done this so many times over the years. I can’t find the words tonight.”

“Dad?” Joanie shifted closer to her father. Her eyes were wide, dark oceans turbulent with fear. “Dad you’re scaring me.”

Fred wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into his side.

Jakes sat down heavily into a chair opposite them. He tried to give Joan an encouraging smile, but he was fairly certain that it fell far short.

“Hell, I don’t even know where to start.” Jakes knocked his drink back in one go, and then straightened up. He could do this. He had to do this. Somehow. “I guess...I guess I should start at the end.” He cleared his throat. “Dev’s safe. He’s at the hospital right now, surrounded by the Guard and a few police officers.” Jakes tried to ignore the little cry from Win and the way Joan’s hand flew to her mouth. “The Chairman is on his way over. Dev...he’ll be okay. Eventually. It’s...he’s going to need time to heal.” Jakes dropped his eyes to his hands. “A lot of time.”

“What...what happened?” Win’s voice wavered.

Jakes gathered his tattered nerves about him. He looked both women in the eyes. “I’ll try to tell you. It’s...it’s not an easy story. Please...Christ.” Jakes shook his head. “Don’t interrupt me. I can’t...I won’t be able to get through it.” He scrubbed one hand over his face. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

Both women nodded, both gone pale as ghosts. Jakes felt horrible for scaring them like that, but really, the tale he had to tell wasn’t pretty.

He cleared his throat. “There’s spells, in the magical community. We call them shimmers. They can...they can make a person appear to be...someone else.” 

Joan’s eyes widened in immediate understanding. “That wasn’t Dev,” she whispered.

Jakes nodded. “The man we rescued two weeks ago, it wasn’t Endeavour. I’m not sure who he was. Dev called him ‘Kienan’, but I don’t know more than that right now.” Win whimpered, and Jakes saw Fred reach out for her hand. “Dev was held captive by a wizard that the Guard knows as Zorander. He’s...a fanatic. The Army of Morality broke from him because he was too brutal, too obvious, too unstable.” Jakes tried his best to ignore the way Joan tucked herself closer to her father. _ God _, how was he supposed to say this. “There are...there are two kinds of shimmer spells. One...one is temporary. The other...the other is meant to essentially turn the host--Kienan-- into the victim--Dev. Eventually. It kills the victim, once it reaches completion.” Jakes tightened his hand into a fist.

He had to pause for a moment, just to breathe. This next part...this next part was so much worse.

“It’s blood magic. They take the victim’s blood and transfuse it with the host’s, and they don’t give the victim time to recover. They just keep taking blood.” The words came out in a hurried rush. Jakes knew if he thought about it too long, he’d never be able to get it out. “Dev lost a lot of blood. But we got to him in time. The host...he’s dead. We stopped the spell.” 

Jakes looked back up at them again, praying he could stop there. Praying they wouldn’t ask him any more. Praying Fred wouldn’t make him finish. 

He should have known better. Joan was too sharp to not pick up on his unease.

“There’s more. What aren’t you telling us?”

Jakes shook his head. “I’d...I’d rather not.”

“Tell them, Jakes.” Fred’s voice was resigned. “They’ll find out eventually.”

“Christ.” Jakes stared at the three Thursdays, all of them huddled together on the sofa. He was trying to find the words, trying to find some way to speak around the lump in his throat. The image of Dev’s family kept blurring, as if his eyes were filling with tears once again. 

Damn it, he’d been through this once tonight already. He’d already explained this...this horror. He should be able to do it again. Except...the last time had drained so much out of him. The last time, he’d been standing over his best friend’s almost-lifeless body. The last time, he’d been desperately prying at rusty cuffs covered in dried blood. The last time, he’d been trying to figure out how to take some of that pain. The last time…

Jakes let out a sob and buried his head in his hands. “I can’t,” he murmured, “I can’t, sir. God, I can’t.”

Everything seemed to be swirling around him--all of his fears and demons and the phantoms that haunted him at night. They joined together, coalescing into a glittering, screaming mass that had Dev’s eyes and a pain-filled face. He cringed away from the vision, even though he knew it was only in his head. The ghoul followed him, blood dripping from its chin.

Warmth seeped into Jakes’ shoulder, and the haunting mist vanished. Jakes blinked his eyes open, and found himself face to face with Win Thursday.

“Peter?” Her voice was soft and full of concern. Concern--Jakes realized--that was directed at _ him _. “Peter, it’s alright. You’re alright.” She settled down on the arm of the chair in which Jakes was sitting, her hand sliding to his other shoulder until she was holding him in a half-hug.

Jakes leaned into her. He couldn’t resist, not anymore. He was exhausted, hollowed out. Whatever barriers he usually kept up had long since crumbled into dust. 

In away, it felt natural to lean into Win. She had helped to mold Dev into the man that he was, and Dev had laid strong hands on Jakes’ shoulders more times than he could count. Win was just an extension of Dev, a mother that Jakes had never had, and a source of comfort that he desperately needed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Shhhh, it’s alright.” Win’s hand rubbed soothingly across his back. “It’s alright, Peter.”

He shook his head. “It’s not. It’s…” He took a shuddering breath. “They...there are spells.” Jakes swallowed. “That can cause pain.” He ignored Joan’s horrified gasp. “Zorander was crazy. He...Dev..._ damn it. _ ” Jakes turned towards Win, giving into a childish need to _ hide _.

“They tortured him. With magic.” Fred Thursday’s deep voice filled in the blanks that Jakes couldn’t force himself to finish.

Jakes heard Joan’s muffled scream. He felt Win’s arm tighten around his shoulders painfully. He felt their pain slam into him, lashing against him like violent waves, tossing him against jagged cliffs.

And then everything faded to black, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry? *ducks*
> 
> The good news is that should be the last really rough chapter. Not that it isn't gonna take a while to get to just comfort, but we will start to heal from here on out. 
> 
> When will this story end? Who the heck knows. *nervous laughter*
> 
> Keep throwing comfort tropes at me :) And comments. And screams. <3


	18. I Wear this Crown of Thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What...what even is this chapter? It is very much not what I planned? I'm not even...I dunno what happened here. 
> 
> Regardless, many thanks to the ever-wonderful guardianoffun, who never fails to help yank me out of writer's block.

He awoke to a pounding in his head, fire in his bones and a myriad of aching muscles. There was a warmth and comfort that seemed to wind its way through the pain, a strange sensation that Jakes was unfamiliar with. He felt at peace, like he had won a hard fought battle. Something soft and heavy seemed to be cocooned around him, soothing him. 

He should open his eyes, he really should. But he felt  _ safe _ and  _ warm _ and  _ content _ and  _ God _ he just wanted to stay that way for a bit. Jakes squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay still. Just a few more moments of this...the where and the why could wait that long, certainly.

Unease started to set in all too soon, prickling and niggling at his mind. Jakes took a deep breath and opened his eyes; might as well figure out where he is. His eyes are tired and his mind is slow--he should probably be worried about that--so pictures and thoughts jumbled together in no consistent order.

_ Wallpaper--not mine. Warm, hand-made blanket--not mine. Old couch--not mine. Wallpaper...Inspector Thursday’s? Blanket...Mrs. Thursdays? Couch. _

And then reality slammed back into Jakes. Fragments of the past few hours embedded themselves in his skin--blood and screams and pain and fear--before coalescing into his last vision of Dev lying there too still and too pale on that hospital bed. The image burned into his side like a dull, jagged knife. He curled onto his side, gasping through the panic.

More memories assaulted his raw soul: the Inspector’s haggard face, Joanie’s frightened gasp, Win’s red eyes, Win’s arm around his shoulder.  _ Oh God _ . He had come here to  _ help _ \--to support Thursday, to break the news gently to his family--and instead he’d broken down and...what, passed out?

Jakes buried his face in his hands with a broken sob.

“Sergeant Jakes?” 

Jakes’ head snapped up at the sound of Joan’s voice. She was standing in the doorway, head canted to the side. The sight of her tearstained face sent another wave of guilt crashing over him.  _ He _ was responsible for those tears.  _ He _ had hurt Dev’s sister.

The room felt stifling suddenly, the heavy weight of the blanket no longer comforting. Jakes pushed against it, struggling as his limbs failed to cooperate. 

“No, stay there, dammit.” Joan was across the room, pushing him back down. Her hand on his shoulder stilled him almost as effectively as the unexpected curse that fell off her lips. She rolled her eyes at his shocked expression. “Oh, come off it. I’m not a little girl.” Her face darkened. “Besides, I think I’m allowed a little leeway today.”

Jakes collapsed back into the couch, giving up on his fight with the blanket. He nodded faintly, guilt clawing at his throat. Joan stared at him for a long moment. 

“Want some tea? You look like you could use some.” She gave him a strained smile. “I could too, for that matter.”

He shook his head. “No. No, I...I should be going.” He cleared his throat and glanced over her shoulder. “Where...where did your father go?”

Joan sat down on the nearby table with a huff. “He and mum went to collect Sam.” She swallowed hard, her eyes darting down to her hand.s “Didn’t want to wait till morning, or explain over the phone.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door. “Mum didn’t want to wake you.”

“I really...I should get going.” Jakes fought Win’s blanket again, and this time he won. “You don’t need to babysit me.” When he glanced up at Joan, he found himself speared with a stare that mirrored Dev’s own, mixed with just enough of Win to make him freeze. 

“You’ll do no such thing, Peter Jakes. Mum said to make sure you stay here.” Her eyes flashed dangerously. “And you most certainly look like you could use some babysitting. Can you even stand up?” 

Frustration flickered in Jakes’ bones. He wasn’t  _ helpless _ damn it. “I’m fine, Miss Thursday.” He pushed off her offered hand.

“It’s Joan, for Christ’s sake.” Her tone was sharp, and Jakes’ head snapped up as if he’d been slapped. “You’ve been around enough to earn that much.” 

“Joan.” Jakes ducked his head. “I really should be going--”

“In the state you’re in? I think not.” Joan rubbed her hand across her forehead. “Just sit there and let me fix you some tea, alright?”

Guilt prodded Jakes sharply in the side and he winced. She was hurting, just as much as he was, if not more. The last thing she needed was him to look after. “Joan, you don’t need to--”

“Oh, stop it with this guilty bullshit, Peter Jakes.” Joan stood suddenly, glaring down at him. “You’re not the only one whose hurting tonight. Damn it, we all are.” She shook her head. “Just...just sit there, alright?” She clenched her hands into fists and then glared at them; they were shaking. “I need to do something. Just...stay.” 

Jakes blinked up at her. “Joan--”

“Shut up, Peter. Just shut up.” Joan scrubbed a hand over her face and took a shaky breath. “You’re just like him, you know that? Stubborn and frustrating and always trying to take on the whole damned world. I miss him, okay?” She glared at Jakes, tears shining in her eyes. “I miss him and I can’t be with him and I haven’t been able to see my brother in three damned weeks.  _ Fuck _ .” 

Jakes froze, quite uncertain of how to deal with this unraveled side of Joan Thursday. He knew how to deal with Dev, when he got like this, but that level of familiarity seemed wrong with Dev’s younger sister. 

Joan glared at the ceiling for a moment, breathing heavily. “Let me fix you tea. I need to do something with my hands, okay? Just…” She raised her hands, fingers splayed out as if to push him back onto the couch again. “Just stay. I need to know where someone is in this damned family for once.” 

She spun on her heel, tangled curls nearly smacking him in the face, and stormed out of the room. 

Jakes sat there for a moment, staring blankly into the space she had just occupied. Her anger had surprised him, the shock of it almost burning away the guilt that seemed to choke him. Without it--without that cloying, stifling feeling-- Jakes had the sudden urge to  _ move _ . The longer he sat there, the further away his body seemed to float. He could relate to Joan’s need to  _ do something. _

Jakes heaved his aching body off the couch. He surveyed the wreck of the Thursday’s sitting room with a critical eye. He had managed to displace several pillows and that blanket from the couch, and there were whiskey glasses scattered across the room. With a sigh, Jakes set to tidying the couch and rounding up the glasses. 

He padded into the kitchen quitely, studiously ignoring the glare that Joan fixed him with. Jakes set the glasses down in the sink with a clink, and then turned to study Joan. She was bent over the stove, and as he watched her, he noticed her shoulders shaking with near-silent sobs.

Jakes inched closer, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder. There was no precedent for this situation, nothing in the rules about how to comfort his best friend’s sister, no script for offering hope when everything felt hopeless. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say, how he was supposed to calm her when he felt as if his own mind was an uncontrollable hurricane. He only knew that they were both alone, adrift with their own grief and confusion and  _ damn it _ , he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want her to be alone.

Jakes didn’t anticipate the fiery storm that was Joan Thursday.

She whirled to face him, one hand batting his away. “Would you just leave off? I’m not some fragile doll to be coddled. I’m a grown woman, dammit.” Her chest was heaving and her eyes flashed dangerously. 

Jakes held up his hands, backing away. “Joan--”

“Don’t.” She took a step towards him. “Don’t even try. Whatever you have to say, don’t bother. They’ve already said it.” She flicked her head over her shoulder, and Jakes knew she meant her parents. “ _ It will be alright. He’ll be fine,”  _ she mimicked them. “I’m not a  _ child _ . I know what evil looks like. They think I don’t remember what it felt like, when I suddenly realized that I’d  _ forgotten _ my older brother. I haven’t. They think I shouldn’t know what  _ torture _ means. They think I can’t handle it, any of it.” She advanced towards him, and Jakes felt his shoulders collide with the wall. “And now you come in here with the same damned look in your eyes.  _ Watch out over Joan _ . I’m not made of fucking glass, Peter Jakes, and I don’t need your damn coddling.”

Somewhere in the middle of her rant, Jakes felt something snap within him. Whatever bone she wanted to pick with her parents, he didn’t deserve to be stuck in the middle. Maybe she didn’t want coddling, maybe she didn’t want someone to try and protect her. But how  _ dare _ she take that caring for granted and how  _ dare _ she shout at him. What he wouldn’t have given to have someone actually give a damn about him when he was younger. What he wouldn’t give now to have someone fucking  _ care _ about what he’d been through. He’d offered what little comfort he could give and she threw it back in his face. How  _ dare _ she.

“Dammit, Joan, I’m just trying to help.” Jakes pushed himself off the wall and shouldered past her. “I’m not trying to coddle you. I don’t even know how to pretend I haven’t seen what I’ve seen tonight.” He spun around and glared at her. “I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to do now, where I’m supposed to go, what I’m supposed to feel. You want to know the truth? I’ll tell you the damned truth.”

Joan’s eyes widened, but he kept going. 

“I stabbed him,” Jakes snarled. “Did your father tell you that? I  _ stabbed _ him. Dev. He had Dev’s face, and I stabbed him. I had to, or we would have lost Dev. Every time I close my eyes I see his face, though. Dev’s eyes, his fear. Dammit Joan, you think I want to  _ coddle _ you?” Jakes felt a shudder run through him and he hated himself for that weakness. The fire died in him, leaving him with just ash in his mouth. “I didn’t want you to be alone. I don’t want to be alone.” He looked away from her, out the door into their back garden. God, he needed a smoke. 

“He’s your brother by blood, Joan. He’s my brother by choice.” Jakes clenched his jaw. “They can’t...he’s their son. It’s different. I just... _ damn it _ .” He shook his head. “I need a smoke.”

Jakes didn’t bother looking back as he slammed through their back door. He flicked a cigarette out, ignoring the way his hands shook as he lit it. The smoke curled into his lungs, soothing just the edges of his frayed nerves. He quirked a bitter smile; he’d have to buy out a whole damn store to even make a dent on the fear and panic and tumult inside.

The door behind him opened quietly. He glanced over to see Joan staring at him. She looked neither contrite nor shocked as she studied him. Then the door closed behind her and she leaned up against the house next to him.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” Her voice was even and devoid of the cold fury from before. “I doubt you are either.” She canted her head at him. A tired smile curled around her lips. “Neither of us can quite shout at Dad, can we?”

Jakes shook his head and took another deep drag of his cigarette. Joan’s eyes tracked the movement. Her hand suddenly darted out and plucked the cigarette from between his fingers. She blew out a long trail of smoke, barely concealing a smirk at his shock.

“Don’t tell Dad.” Joan took another drag before handing it back to Jakes. “Thanks.”

Jakes raised an eyebrow at her. “You could have a whole one if you wanted.”

She laughed, and Jakes smiled at the lightness of the sound. “I’ve got a pack stashed upstairs somewhere. No, I mean...for letting me shout.” Joan ran a hand through her hair. “He wasn’t right. Dev, that is. The whole time. I should have known, should have said something.” She took the cigarette when Jakes offered it to her. “I’ve been on edge and just...they handle me with kid gloves sometimes. Dad especially.”

“You can’t blame yourself.” Jakes stole the cigarette back. “We all missed it.”

“I know. Really, I do. It’s...I needed to get that out of my system.” She smiled at Jakes, and it was an honest smile: tired around the edges, but not forced. “I can’t shout at them. So thanks.”

Jakes returned her smile. “I wasn’t sure how to help. Guess I figured it out.” He moved to shrug, but paused as his aching shoulder chose that moment to make itself known again. He hissed at the sudden pain.

“Damn it, you had a house fall on you.” Joan’s hand caught at Jakes’ elbow. “Mum said to make sure you stayed put, and here you are standing in the garden.” She shook her head when he opened his mouth to protest. “I don’t need them hollering at me if they come home and find us out here. Inside. I’ll put the kettle on again.”

Jakes dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out with his toe. Now that the adrenaline had faded again from his system, he felt the exhaustion and pain pulling at him again. Joan tugged at his arm again, and he followed her. He didn’t argue when she pointed him towards a chair.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

She raised her eyebrows at him over the tea kettle. “For?”

Jakes huffed. He didn’t even know, really. Just...for being there, really. “I didn’t want to be...alone, I guess.”

There was a softness in the smile that she graced him with. “I mean what I said. You’re part of this family, Peter Jakes. You were there for Dev when we couldn’t be.” She set a cup down in front of him. “You don’t need to be alone, not anymore.”  
Something in her tone made Jakes glance up. The level of understanding in her eyes made him flinch.

“Dev told me. Not much, but enough.” Her fingers squeezed once at his hand. “Give mum another week or two and she’ll have you officially adopted.” She withdrew, and collapsed into a chair across from him. 

Jakes couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “Dev basically adopted me, that first night we met. Fixed me a cup of tea and left me a note telling me to stay put. First time I met your mother, I knew where he had got it.”

Joan laughed. “I’ll have to tease him about that, mothering people.” She paused abruptly, and her face fell. Jakes felt his own expression darken. 

For a moment, it had been as if the past weeks had faded into a nightmare. In the blink of an eye, it had all come crashing back. Fear washed over Jakes again, and he stared deep into the cup of tea in front of him. The sound of keys in the front door roused him, and Jakes took a deep breath. Time to face reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. That wasn't supposed to happen, but here we are. *shrugs*
> 
> More to come soon!! :)


	19. Beneath the Stains of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi-ho, I'm back again! Back on my emotional-introspective bullshit. Hence, I bring you Thursday Family Reflections (+ Jakes) as they all stand vigil over Dev's bedside.
> 
> Warning: Feels Ahead. Many Feels  
:D

Win knew the rumors that circulated around her in those early days, of course she did. She was no fool. Her peers whispered about how her husband had saddled her with his _bastard_ _child_. She could feel their pity in the way they looked at her; it was baked into the dishes they brought to her kitchen after Fred was deployed. Older relatives shook their head, sitting in judgment on her willingness to forgive someone who had been _unfaithful_. Family friends who passed her on the street turned up their nose--_just married a few months and already has a baby?_

She shrugged off their pity and judgement and derision with equal carelessness. None of them knew the truth, none of them  _ cared _ to know the truth. Fred had never been unfaithful, nor had he ever lied to her about who Connie had been to him. He had never forced this child on her. He had been willing to do right by both Constance and the child. It had been  _ Win’s  _ decision. She had chosen this path, she had chosen to accept this small, red-haired boy into her life.

She never regretted that decision.

Not once during those long six years when Fred was deployed did she wish she hadn’t held that little boy in her arms. Not once in Endeavour’s life did she ever agree with the whispers of  _ not her child _ . Not once in all their shared years did she ever wonder what life would have been like without her Dev. 

The fact that she had been forced to live that lie for ten years still felt like a fresh wound in her soul.

Dev was her child. She had raised him. He was part of her Fred. He was the older brother to her two youngest. He had Connie’s coloring and Fred’s stubbornness, but he had her own gentleness. He was  _ hers _ , no matter what the rumors had said, no matter what his birth certificate said, no matter what Octavia Stevens had tried to do.

* * *

Win had been afraid for her children before. She had cried over them, prayed over them, and watched over them late into the night. Joanie had come down with pneumonia once, and Win had thought for sure she wasn’t going to make it. Sam had gone missing for twelve hours once, until Dev had found him stuck up in a tree a few blocks from their house. Dev’s closest call had been that one horrible car wreck in a late spring blizzard. Ten year olds weren’t meant to have concussions that severe. Win knew what it meant to fear for her children’s life.

But not like this.

Win had stood watch over her husband’s bagmen before. She’d watched over Mickey Carter nearly a dozen times. She’d sat with his wife, waiting until the young man opened his eyes after whatever gunshot or knife wound had put him in that hospital bed. She’d been there at the end too, when Carter had refused to open his eyes. She’d cried as they lowered him into the ground. Win had watched out over Fred’s newest bagman too, the young one with big, sad eyes and red-gold hair. She’d invited him in for dinner, badgered Fred to give him an extra sandwich, and sat by his bedside in the hospital. Win knew what it meant to sit a vigil over one of Fred’s bagmen.

But not like this.

This...this was worse than anything she had ever encountered. This was worse than anything she’d ever  _ dreamed _ might happen. This wasn’t a car wreck. This wasn’t a gunshot or a knife wound. This wasn’t pneumonia. This was...she didn’t even know what to call this. Vicious. Barbaric. Evil.  _ Horrible. _

This wasn’t just another bagman. This wasn’t another young man who knew what he had signed up for. This wasn’t a police officer caught unawares in the line of duty. This was her son, her Endeavour, her  _ first born _ \--damn the rules.

She should be strong. For Joanie. For Sam. For Fred. She should be able to walk through that door and hold her head up. She should be able to keep her tears to herself, to wait until they were back home. She should be strong.

But nothing from the past thirty-odd years could have prepared Win for that sight. Nothing could have steeled her against the horror that washed over her when she saw  _ her son _ lying there in that hospital bed. 

Any other observer would have seen a pale, comatose young man with skin far too pale to be healthy. He was hooked up to at least three IV bags and a heart monitor. Yellow and purple bruises trailed up his arms and around his throat. Gauze looped around one wrist, the other was lost in a plaster cast. Dark shadows under his closed eyes told a tale of not enough sleep.

Win, however, saw all of this and much, much more. As she stared in shock at her Endeavour, as she clung to the pillar that was her husband, ghosts of memories seemed to dance about the bed. A laughing little boy twirled around the foot of the bed, proudly showing her one of his new “magic tricks.” A thin teenage Dev grinned up at her as his fingers flew across piano keys. A wide-eyed Dev stared in wonder at his new-born baby brother. A shaking five-year old held out his scraped knee for “mummy to kiss.” 

It wasn’t the sight of Dev as he was now--broken and bruised--that brought tears to Win’s eyes. It was the thought of what he should be, what he used to be, what he  _ was _ . He was her son. He was always brave, always strong, always  _ good _ . He wasn’t supposed to be this still. He wasn’t supposed to be this pale. He wasn’t supposed to be this silent. He wasn’t supposed to be this way at all.

Someone had taken him, hurt him, wounded him,  _ abused him _ . Her Endeavour. Her son.

Win tore herself away from Fred and stumbled to the bed. Her shaking hands reached out to touch him; her gentle fingers carded through his hair.

“Oh my son,” she breathed. “My Endeavour. What have they done to you?”

She shouldn’t cry. And yet there was no power in heaven that could stop the tears that fell onto the white sheets.

He was her oldest child. Nothing could change the love she felt for him.

* * *

To Sam, Endeavour had always been the one he looked up to. He was the older brother who could make paper dance and sticks disappear into thin air. Nobody else had a brother who could do that. As Sam grew older, his fascination with Dev’s magic tricks faded a bit, but his respect for his older brother grew. He always seemed to be ready with a kind word or helpful hand. More and more, Sam found himself confiding in Dev. He took his advice too, most of the time. Even if it meant telling Dad about something stupid he’d managed to do.

Endeavour had been a solid point in Sam’s life, something stable that he could rely on. Waking up one day to realize that he’d lost that foundation-- _ and hadn’t even known _ \--had been one of the most shattering things to happen in his young life.

Had been.

This was worse.

This was so much worse.

Sam had never seen his older brother look this small, this fragile. Dev had never been, well,  _ big _ . He’d always been a bit of a twig--mum was always after him to eat more. But he’d had a quiet strength to him, something that always made Sam feel safe when they were younger.

None of that was left now. 

Dev was laid out on the bed, covered in gauze and tubes and those horrible scratchy hospital blankets. They’d arranged him like a perfect patient--all straight lines. It was all wrong. Dev was always a mess when sleeping--tangled in his sheets with one leg splayed out for Sam to trip on. He looked...well,  _ dead _ .

They said he was in a coma...some sort of healing trance. It was supposed to help his body heal. Sam didn’t like it. If he were any younger he would have said it was  _ creepy _ . But it wasn’t, not really.

It was scary.

Sam knew he should be strong. For Mum, and Joanie. And he really didn’t want to cry in front of Sergeant Jakes. But...but that was Dev there, on that bed. They said he’d almost died. They said he’d been gone for weeks, the man they thought was Dev had been some...someone else. They said he’d been hurt, badly, by some crazy wizard. 

He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t. Not here, not in the hospital. Not when Mum was already crying, murmuring comforting words over Dev.

But he could inch a little closer to Dad. That wouldn’t hurt. And he could lean in when Dad wrapped an arm around his shoulder. And he could bury his face in Dad’s coat, just for a bit. Just to try and get that image of Dev’s still form out of his mind. It didn’t mean he was any less of a man--Dev would tell him so, if he were awake. 

Dev  _ would _ tell him so, just as soon as he woke up.

He had to wake up.

* * *

He had been her role model, her playmate, her friend. For ten wonderful years, Dev had been in her life. He had made her laugh when she wanted to cry. He had invented games for them to play when they couldn’t go outside. When she was sick, he would sneak into her room and entertain her with his magic. He had always been the strong one, comforting her when she was scared and putting the boys that teased her in their place--even if she had to laugh at the way he glowered at boys half his height.

Joan still remembered the day she got in a fight with a boy at school. She was eight and a bit of a spitfire, according to Dev.  _ Augustus Xavier Davids _ \--she still wondered who named their child that--had been one of the boys who liked to tug her pigtails. Dev had cornered him after school one day and told the brat to leave his little sister alone. A few days later, she overheard Augustus talking about  _ that Thursday bastard _ . When she stormed up to him in a rage, he had sneered and asked why she let  _ a bastard half-brother _ fight her battles for her. She’d heard people call her brother that before. Even though she didn’t know exactly what they meant, she knew an insult when she heard one. 

Joan didn’t remember making the decision to hit him; she only remembered seeing him on the ground, blood dripping from her nose.  _ He’s  _ my _ brother, that’s why _ \--she’s replied, with all the pride that an eight year-old could muster. They had called her parents, of course. Dad had tried not to smile, and Mum had glared daggers at Augustus Xavier Davids. Sam made fun of his name later--trying so hard to pronounce  _ Xavier _ \-- when Joan told the story to Dev. 

Later that night, after everyone should have been in bed, Joan found Dev standing in the hallway, staring out the window. She snuck up to him and wrapped her tiny arms around his waist. When he looked down at her, she saw that he’d been crying.  _ What’s wrong, Devvy?  _ she had asked. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, but Joan was nothing if not stubborn.

He told her what that word meant, in terms that made sense to her young mind. He told her that some people didn’t think he should be part of their family. He told her that sometimes, like tonight, he would dream that he  _ wasn’t _ , that they didn’t want him anymore, that Joanie didn’t want her big brother around. She remembered clambering up him and burying her face in his neck.  _ You’ll always be my favoritest big brother,  _ she had whispered.

Those words echoed in her mind when the spell had lifted. Those words, and the nightmares that Dev had confided in her about. She wasn’t sure he’d ever told Mum or Dad about them. Those nightmares, and the memory of that night, haunted her even now. 

That was why Joan had felt as if someone had burited a knife in her gut when she found out about the spell. She couldn’t imagine how Dev would have felt, having his nightmares come true. There had been nights, since they remembered, that Joan woke up in a cold sweat, having dreamed that Dev gave up during those fifteen long years. That he couldn’t stand the pain. Or that he became bitter and angry, pushing them away once they remembered. 

This time, this spell, this horror...it had felt as if Joan’s dreams had become reality. Watching as her brother turned against their mother, as he shouted at his father, as he  _ leered _ at her...Joan kept wishing she could wake up. It hurt, so much, as she felt him drift away from her each day. It hurt now, realizing that she had only had to deal with  _ two weeks _ of that torture. He had lived it for  _ fifteen years _ .

And now…

Now they had almost lost him again--might still lose him. 

Now they remembered, now they knew what they had to lose. 

Now it was them, huddled together, trying to make sense out of the evil that seemed to conspire against them. 

She tried to be strong. She could see the tears on Mum’s face. She could see the way Sam inched closer to Dad. She could see the pain etched in Dad’s face.

But the thought of what Dev had endured in the last three weeks...the thought of him alone once again...the thought of the pain that he’d been through...the thought that he had been  _ abandoned _ by his family again...the horror tore through her like fire. 

She had spent the last several months relearning who her older brother was, relearning what they meant to each other, and rediscovering how much she loved him. He was  _ her brother _ . Her mentor. Her Dev.

And now he was so far away, wrapped in a trance to keep his body from being overwhelmed by the pain.

She couldn’t touch him, couldn’t hug him, couldn’t sing to him. She couldn’t do  _ anything _ . There were no bullies to hit now, no nightmares to be kept at bay. This  _ was _ a nightmare.

The tears came without warning, too sudden and too violent to stop them. She felt her knees give out from under her as she buried her face in her hands. Strong arms caught her under her shoulder, supporting her and guiding her to a chair. Different hands pulled at her--hands that smelled like vanilla and  _ home _ instead of the ash and pomade that had kept her from the floor. 

Joan collapsed into her mother’s side, too tired and too frightened to try pretending anymore.

He was her brother, her role model, her friend.

She couldn’t lose him.

She  _ couldn’t _ .

* * *

Time had passed; years that Fred didn’t even know he was losing had slipped away from him. It seemed like only yesterday that his oldest child had been merely eighteen. Then he blinked, and his son was in his thirties. His Endeavour had grown into a man, and Fred hadn’t been there. The knowledge troubled Fred; he carried it with far more pain than that bullet that had rattled around in his lung for so long. 

Now, time had been stolen from him again. Three long weeks, he hadn’t been able to see his son. To protect him from evil, like father’s were meant to do. Three long weeks, in which his Endeavour had known more fear and more pain than any man had a right to know.

He didn’t deserve this, any of it. 

He didn’t deserve to be lying there, unconscious and unaware of the love and worry that surrounded him.

Dev looked so young, lying there. He looked more like the boy of eighteen that Fred had lost, rather than the man of thirty-three he had gotten back. Yet there was an eerie resemblance to  _ Morse _ , from those early days. Endeavour looked thin and uncared for. He looked as if he’d been thrown out into the world, unloved and unmissed. 

He looked fragile. 

Dev looked fragile and young and abandoned. 

Fred wished he could travel back in time--to a simpler place where Dev had always been his son. He wished he could reach out and draw Dev to him, just as he did when the lad was only ten. He wished he could sit on that uncomfortable hospital bed and rock his son to sleep, like he did when the boy was seven and had woken up from a nightmare. He wished...he wished...he wished  _ none _ of this had ever happened.

But it had. In all of its awful, nightmare-ish glory, it had happened. His son was a young man now, long past the days of lullabyes. Besides that, his son was sedated with heavy magic, his conscious mind tucked away so that his body could attempt to repair itself. There was no comfort that would reach him, not right now. Fred was forced to stand there, helpless and very nearly hopeless.

The best he could do was pull Sam close to him, watch over Joan and Win as they wept together, and make sure that bloody, stubborn Peter Jakes didn’t try to sneak off. He was as much a part of the family now as any of them. Hell, he’d been Dev’s only family for ten years.

Fred stood there like a soldier, keeping watch at the foot of his eldest son’s bed. He had failed the lad at least twice now--horribly and monstrously. Fred would be  _ damned _ if anything would get to his Endeavour now. That was  _ his _ son, and he had no intention of letting the boy-- _ man _ \-- out of his sight. 

Not until he opened his eyes again.

Not until he could walk again.

Not until he was  _ well _ again.

And maybe not even then.

* * *

Jakes knew he didn’t belong here. This wasn’t his family. Hell, until a few months ago, he hadn’t spoken more than six sentences to Joan or Sam. Win had been Mrs. Thursday, and the Inspector...Jakes had spent so much time trying to protect Dev from the agony of working with a father that didn’t know him. And now here he was, standing between these people as if he was one of them.

He wasn’t one of them, could never be. Joan and Sam’s childhood had been so much different than his. Win and the Inspector’s marriage was so foreign to him. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave. 

He hadn’t abandoned Dev for ten years. Ten long years, they had worked beside each other. For ten years, they had been about the only source of comfort for the other. In many ways, it wasn’t just his best friend lying there on that bed, it was his brother. Dev was one of the few people that Jakes trusted completely; maybe even the only one. He couldn’t leave him now.

Still, something in him cried out that he should run, that he should back away and leave the Thursday’s to their privacy. He wasn’t meant to see the tears running down Win’s face. He wasn’t meant to notice the way Sam tucked himself into his father’s side. He most certainly wasn’t meant to catch Joan as she swayed on her feet. And there was no scenario in which he was meant to see such raw emotion on his governor’s face. 

He didn’t want them to see him cry, either. He didn’t break down in front of people--ever. Dev was the only exception, and Dev wasn’t here to help him. But everything within Jakes  _ ached _ . His bones and his muscles still screamed from trying to alleviate Dev’s pain. His head still throbbed from the pressure of the last few days. And his soul had been shredded to bits as he tried to come to terms with what Dev had been through. 

He needed to leave. He had to get away. Not even to smoke, just...he couldn’t be here. He  _ shouldn’t  _ be here.

Jakes turned to flee from the room, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He jerked his head up, meeting Inspector Thursday’s eyes.

“Stay, Jakes.” Thursday’s eyes were sorrowful and knowing. Jakes shuddered under their stare. “He would want you to be here.”

Jakes shook his head. “Sir, I can’t--”

“Peter.” Jakes froze; Thursday never called him Peter. “Stay. You’ll do no good running around like this. Dev will want to see you.”

Jakes swallowed, trying not to give into the voice that added  _ if he wakes up.  _ Thursday’s grip tightened on Jakes’ shoulder. 

“Stay. It’s alright.” Thursday gave him a small smile. “You’ve no where else to go. You might as well be one of us.”

Jakes nodded, trying to hold back the new tears that were stinging in his eyes.

“It takes a strong man to admit when he’s hurting, lad.” Thursday turned back towards Dev’s bed, and Jakes saw a few tears trailing down his lined face. “It’s alright. No one here will think less of you. Now sit, before you fall down again.”

Jakes did as he was told; he had no fight left in him, not now. He collapsed into the chair nearest him. He buried his face in his hands, trying to push back the pain and the fear and the exhaustion.

He failed. 

Jakes’ shoulders shook as he sobbed silently. His own unbecoming sniffles joined Win’s and Joan’s. He knew he should have been strong. But he couldn’t be. Not now.

Not when his best friend was teetering on the brink between life and death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You likey? Monkey brain love comments. :D
> 
> I had a lot of fun doing this chapter. It started with me thinking about Win and how close she is with her son, but also how much she must have put up with as a newly-married woman with a baby in tow. While her husband was at war, no less.
> 
> It spiraled from there.
> 
> More to come, hopefully soon!


	20. See if I Still Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet another chapter that wasn't in my original plans...but uh, here, have a bit more angst...and an explanation of where the heck the Chairman has been all this time.

That awful night turned into a grey day, and that lifeless day passed into another sleepless night. Monica checked on Dev every hour, her gentle hands gliding up and down his still form. Doctors would follow her quietly, checking Dev’s vitals and conferring in hushed tones with the Healer.  _ He still needs rest _ , they would invariably say. Their faces remained blank, but in their effort to convey nothing, they revealed everything.  _ He’s been through too much. He may not come back _ . 

Win ushered Sam and Joan home that night, ignoring their complaints. Somehow, she managed to drag Peter Jakes with her, though he was barely in any shape to resist. Fred stayed, a stoic sentinel who refused to leave his charge. Jakes and Win returned the next day, forcing a reluctant Fred home for a change of clothes and a kip. 

The pattern repeated itself in a torturous cycle of hopelessness. A rotation of worried faces and impassive doctors and Healers filtered through the hospital room, all keeping watch over the too-still form of Captain Endeavour Thursday. The members of the Thursday family--plus Jakes--took turns with Dev, talking to him, reading to him, begging him to come back.

As the days stretched into weeks, each of them had to report to their respective jobs. Bright gave Inspector Thursday leave, for as long as necessary, but he still checked in at the nick. Joan and Sam reported in to the Guard a bit more regularly, seeking some sense of normalcy in the disaster that had overtaken their lives. Win flitted between home and the hospital, constantly cooking or sewing, unable to keep still. 

Jakes met with the Chairman almost every day, bringing him up to speed on the past few weeks while trying to juggle once again being the pseudo-Captain. It was grueling work, with half of his mind always trapped in either the room they had found Dev in or the sterile walls that held him captive now. 

The Chairman had been travelling, attending the annual international conference of the magical community. The conference location was known only to those in attendance--the highest ranking magic users of each attending country. They were nearly unreachable, having left the regulation to their most trusted subordinates. 

It was clear to both Jakes and the Chairman why Zorander had chosen this time to act. Dev had been essentially acting as the Chairman--a bit of a trial run, really--and Zorander could have accomplished a fair amount of damage had he been able to gain control of the guard. The difficulties of reaching the chairman had also played into Zorander’s hand, as Jakes had been unwilling to attempt communication until he had proof.

All of it made sense; none of it was able to assuage Jakes’ guilt. He had been too slow, too tentative, too trusting, and it had almost cost him his best friend. Hell, if Jakes was honest with himself, there was a very good chance that he might still lose his best friend and Captain. 

* * *

The days started to add up, and before long, it felt as if they had been living in this nightmare forever. For the Thursdays, it was a cruel twist of fate that once they had remembered the missing member of their family, they were now left adrift without him. For Jakes, it was torture.

For ten years, Dev had been his best friend, brother, confidant, and occasionally his savior. They had been there for each other when the nights got too dark and the days too long. Without him, without someone who understood what pain and fear were, Jakes felt himself starting to drift back to who he had been before. Before a vampire tried to use him as a meal. Before a strange young man with haunted eyes had saved him. Before he’d had a purpose in life. Some days, Jakes wondered if this was how Dev had felt--suddenly alone in the world without the very thing that grounded him. 

Jakes thought it ironic that he had been saved by a Thursday before, and now found himself being saved by Thursdays again. 

Win refused to let him go. She insisted that he spend his off hours with them, either at the hospital or at their home. Jakes wasn’t allowed to leave the house without a sandwich, and either Sam or Fred would track him down for lunch. He found himself talking to Joan in the evenings, both of them ending up prowling around the house when they should have been asleep. 

Jakes appreciated those late night talks more than he could express. Joan had a no-nonsense attitude to the situation, unlike the rest of their family. Fred refused to talk much, lapsing into dark thunderclouds of silence. Win couldn’t sit still, constantly fussing over each of them and refusing to look anyone in the eye. Sam, well, Sam was still young, still learning how to process tragedy. Joan...Joan said what was on her mind. Joan shouted and Joan cried. Joan cursed, and didn’t cringe when Jakes did the same. They leaned on each other during those dark nights, and Jakes suspected he might have gone crazy without someone he could talk to.

* * *

It had been six weeks and three days since any of them had last talked to Dev--the  _ real _ Dev Thursday. Six weeks and three days since he had gone missing. Five weeks and three days since they thought they had recovered him. Three weeks and three days since they finally rescued him. Three weeks and three days since he had been in a healing trance.

Six weeks and three days of a living nightmare. 

Sam was off with friends that night and Joan had met up with a few of her girlfriends. Win and Fred had taken to encouraging their younger children to try and rebuild their lives. Dev wouldn’t have wanted them to mope around, waiting on him. Time still passed, and their lives had to be lived. 

None of the three people standing vigil that night bothered to take that advice. To Win and Fred, the pale figure breathing shallowly on that bed  _ was _ their life. To Peter Jakes, he  _ owed _ his life to Dev. He wouldn’t be anywhere else that night.

Win and Fred had another reason for chasing their youngest two off. Monica was going to take Dev out of the healing trance that night. No one knew what the outcome might be. The doctors reported that his body had replenished the blood he had lost, and that his physical injuries had healed well enough for him to return to consciousness.  _ If _ he returned to consciousness. 

There was a chance he might not.

“ _ Sczhieldengeothe’s  _ effects aren’t well known, not in cases this severe,” Monica had explained earlier that day. “Few victims survive a spell casting of this level, and coupled with the blood shimmer...he’s been through a lot. We’ve given him as much of a chance as we could by allowing his physical body to heal. It may not be enough.”

Each possibility that Monica listed seemed to bring with it a fresh wave of horror. The best of the worst-case options was that he simply wouldn’t wake up: as the pain from the spell returned, it might overwhelm his nervous system and send him into a permanent coma. He could go mad, or he could be paralyzed.   
It was the very worst possibility that caused Fred and Win to shoo Sam and Joan off. There was a possibility that he would wake and shortly thereafter go into a series of pain-seizures, set off by his overwrought nerves. He had a 25% chance of survival should that occur, and the sight would not be a pretty one. 

Fred had tried to send both Win and Jakes away. They didn’t need to see this, any of this. Both had refused.

“I’ve been there for him since the beginning,” Win replied stoutly, her chin high in the air. “I held him through the war. I won’t desert him now.”

Jakes refused to respond. He simply stationed himself on Dev’s left side and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t leaving, not until he knew for sure. 

They had asked why, if the risks were so high, were they planning on bringing him out of the trance. The answer was simple: it was now or never. The trance could only be used safely for a certain period of time. The body would eventually begin to shut down, without the full input of the victim’s nervous system. Dev had begun to show signs that his body was reaching that limit.

Basically, Monica had explained, Dev was on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump to the other side of the chasm. If he didn’t jump, the unstable ground he was standing on would collapse. He faced certain death, or a slim possibility of survival. They had to take the chance.

It was with these bright hopes that they gathered around Dev’s bed that night: Win and Fred to his right and Jakes leaning up against the wall to Dev’s left. Monica’s hands hovered over Dev as she mouthed silent words. A doctor stood at the end of the bed, in full view of the team of nurses stationed just outside. If Dev began to seize, they were his last chance. 

After too many moments of tense silence, Monica’s hands fell away. She glanced up at Win and Fred, exhaustion on her face.

“I’ve done what I can. It may take a few moments as his mind and body reconnect.” Her dark eyes studied him. “We’ll know soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will this end? Who knows!
> 
> I'm committed to balancing out the pain that these guys have been through. I'm also committed to relatively realistic healing times...hence Dev being in that coma for a solid 3 weeks. 
> 
> Comfort coming...soon. I hope. Assuming these characters don't go wild on me again. They've been known to do that...
> 
> Oh, yeah! If you haven't been, go checkout hekate1308's _ So Fades the Portion of our Early World _ for more Thursday angst in this universe. It's so beautiful and heartbreaking and I may or may not have borrowed the threat of Dev's seizures from there....


	21. I Would Find a Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally...finally something good happens for once...

At first, there was nothing. No change, no movement, no sound. Her son’s eyes remained stubbornly closed, despite how much Win wanted to see their beautiful blue hue again. Dev’s chest rose and fell shallowly, regularly, even, despite how much Win longed to see him take a deep, contented sigh. His long fingers remained still, despite how much Win wanted them to tap idly against the sheets like they always did when Dev was thinking. 

He looked nothing like the son she had raised, like the young man she had lost fifteen years ago. He didn’t even resemble the lonely bagman her husband sometimes dragged home. Dev looked...he looked like a corpse--all straight lines and pale skin. He’d not looked much better in the past few weeks, but tonight...tonight when they  _ wanted _ him to move, prayed for him to move, longed for him to move...tonight he looked far more dead than alive. Win thought her heart might shatter from the sight. 

All at once, the corpse before her came to life. 

Dev took in a huge, stuttering breath as his head lolled awkwardly to the side. His forehead creased in pain and one of his hands began to scrabble at the sheets--Win couldn’t tell if it was the beginning of a seizure or not, the movement was too random. He let out a low moan that pierced straight through Win’s pounding heart. 

The entire room seemed to shift forward onto their toes, ready and waiting for the worst. Win felt her husband inch closer to her, moving to place a steady hand on her shoulders. Jakes pushed himself off the wall, coming to stand directly behind Monica. 

Dev whimpered again, his arms beginning to twitch lightly against the sheets. His face had contorted even further with confusion, and Win longed to reach out and smooth the lines away. Monica shook her head.

“We can’t interfere,” she whispered. The tense expression in the Healer’s face felt like cold icicles against Win’s skin. “His mind and body are reconnecting. If we intervene, it could trigger a seizure.”

Dev continued to come to life before Win’s eyes--if the nightmarish way in which his limbs were beginning to twitch could be called  _ life. _ Dev’s fingers continued to clutch at the sheets, as if he were trying to ascertain what was underneath him. His head lolled to one side, and then back again. Win could see his eyes moving underneath his eyelids, rapid and frantic like when he had horrible dreams as a child. His legs moved restlessly, matching the confused movements of his head and arms. 

“He’s in control of his body,” Monica murmured. Her eyes never left Dev’s face. “That’s a good sign.” At Jakes’ skeptical snort, she glared over her shoulder. “I mean it, Commander. After these sorts of comas, patients can react like this. He’s trying to understand what’s going on around him, trying to get a sense of where he is.” Her eyes flickered up to Win and Fred, a faint smile on her lips. “He’s waking naturally so far. The agitation is a good sign, even if it’s hard to watch.”

Win twisted the handkerchief in her hands as hard as she could.  _ Hard to watch _ \--no, it wasn’t  _ hard _ . It was  _ horrible.  _ That was  _ her _ son there, on that bed. Her son, who hadn’t known a kind touch in over a month. Her son, who had lived for two weeks at the hand of a torturous madman. Her son, who was now kicking about in his bed, looking for all the world like a marionette controlled by the Devil.

A low moan startled then all. Dev’s movements had started to become more defined, making it seem as if he were struggling  _ against _ an invisible force rather than being  _ controlled by _ it. His lips moved silently with breathless words that Win couldn’t quite understand. Dev’s face remained lined with pain and fear--a horrible mask that Win wished he’d never had to wear.

“No…” the word came out as a raspy whisper, slicing into Win’s skin. “No...please...no more. Stop...please...”

Win bit back a whimper. Oh, how she longed to pull him to her chest, like she had when he was a boy, when they hid from the bombs together. She wanted to sing to him, like she had when he was sick with fever, almost delirious. She wanted to smooth back the sweat-damp curls on his forehead. She wanted to smash something, to scream, to  _ stop this. _

She wanted to do  _ anything _ except sit here and  _ watch _ .

“His memory seems to be working.” Monica’s hands hovered over Dev’s forehead. “He may believe himself to still be in Zorander’s lair.”

Dev became more agitated as the moments passed. His voice grew stronger, as did his heartbreaking pleas. His movements increased in both speed and strength, and it looked as if he were trying to fight off remnants of his days in captivity.

Monica watched Dev intensely, seeming to judge every movement, every whisper, every breath against some invisible standard. Win wished she knew what the Healer was looking for, wished she knew whether this agitation was good or bad.

Dev became more agitated as the moments passed. His movements grew stronger, as did his voice. It looked to Win as if he were trying to fight off remnants of his days in captivity, and not for the first time did she wish harm on that wizard. Whatever he had done to her son--whatever he had done to reduce this brave, beautiful young man she had raised down to this frightened boy on the bed...that wizard deserved far more than what her Fred had given to him.  _ Far _ more.

After another sharp moan from Dev, Win glanced up to Monica. The Healer was watching Dev intensely, seeming to judge every movement, every whisper, every breath against some invisible standard. Win wished she knew what Monica was looking for, wished she knew whether this agitation was good or bad. Or when they could put a stop to it.

“ _ No! _ ” Dev’s voice had risen nearly to a shout. Win flinched from the fear in his voice.. “No, please... _ stop. _ ”

Monica surged forwards, her hands hovering close over Dev’s chest. 

“We need to wake him,” Monica snapped. “He’s fully in control of his body now, but he’s stuck in a nightmare.” She glanced up at Win.“You’ve been with him since birth, correct?”

Win nodded, her lips pressed into a bloodless line.  _ Please let there be something I can do... _

“He should respond to you the best.” She glanced up at Fred with a grimace of apology. “He’s still fragile, with everything that’s happened. We need to convince him that he’s safe as quickly as possible. Too much shock or stress could compound the results of the s _ czhieldengeothe. _ ” The Healer’s eyes returned to Win. Her warm voice was firm, but there was an undercurrent of tension. “Wake him up and get him calm. Do whatever you need to, but do it fast.”

For one frozen moment, Win wondered what she was supposed to do. How could she counteract all the pain, the evil, the cruelty that her son had endured? What did she have that this hospital didn’t have? What could she do for him that the Healer couldn’t provide?

Then Dev cried out again, and everything else faded to black.

There was no more magic. No crazy wizards. No hospital bed, no healer, no doctor. It was just her, Win Thursday, and her son. Just like when the bombs fell and Dev clutched at her shirt. Just like when Fred was injured on the job, and Dev had cried himself to sleep in her arms. Just like when Endeavour woke from a nightmare, unsure of whether or not the monsters were still lurking in the shadows.

It was just her and her son. Nothing else mattered.

“Endeavour?” Win laid one hand tenderly on Dev’s face, turning him towards her. “Dev, my boy. Wake up for me, son.” Her other hand smoothed back the wayward strands of his hair.

Dev froze at the touch. His chest was still heaving, his face still contorted with fear, but his body had gone still. Win stroked one thumb across his cheek.

“You’re safe, Endeavour. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me,” Win whispered. She bent low over the bed. “Can you open your eyes for me, love?”

It felt as if an eternity passed between one breath and the next. But somewhere in that endless expanse of time, Dev’s frightened, overwhelmed mind latched onto the first kind words he had heard in weeks. His skin, so used to touches that brought only pain, finally registered the soft warmth of Win’s hand. And he decided to come back to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a wee bit short, mostly because I wanted to get you all off that cliff, and everything that I have planned next will take a bit longer to construct. 
> 
> Many thanks to both guardianoffun and mudlark who helped talk me through a little writer's block issue I had here. I hope this managed to convey the pathos that was in the hospital room while they were trying to get Dev back. :D
> 
> Thank you all for reading...truly, you give me life and hope :)


	22. If I Could Start Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's ALIIIIVVEEEE.  
Sorry. It's late. I'm tired...like, _ really tired _. Hopefully this chapter is more coherent than I am...Apologies for typos. I wrote this without active spellcheck, and now I'm likely too tired to catch everything.

Dev’s eyes fluttered open, and for the first time in over a month, Jakes felt as if he could  _ breathe _ again.

The normal ice blue shade of Dev’s eyes looked almost grey in the artificial light, and it took them a moment to focus on anything in the room. Then an expression of anguished relief flashed across Dev’s wan face as he focused on Win’ face.

“M-m-mother?” The plaintive tone in Dev’s voice nearly broke Jakes’ heart. “Mum…” Dev searched his mother’s face, as if he were trying to memorize the lines that the years had etched into her skin. “Mum...are you...are you here? Really...here?”

Win’s head ducked in sorrow, but she grabbed her son’s hand. “I’m here, Endeavour. I’m right here. You’re safe. You’re in hospital.” She paused, watching Dev’s face. “Do you understand?”

Dev stared at her silently for what felt to Jakes like entirely  _ too long _ . Then he closed his eyes, head turning towards Win’s shoulder. 

“You’re here,” he breathed, “You’re here.” In the next moment, Dev tried to curl his whole body towards Win, clearly seeking the first taste of comfort that had been presented him in weeks. 

His movement was aborted by a sudden spasm of pain. His body went rigid and he cried out. Jakes closed his eyes, flinching away from the sounds that pierced his gut like a knife. He knew all too well how long Dev’s recovery would be, how many of those hurricanes of pain they would all have to live through.

Win’s pinched, pale face swam into Jakes’ view, and he felt his heart break for her. She lunged forward, easing Dev back onto the bed. 

“Shhh, Dev. Just lay back. You’re safe.” She leaned over Dev, filling up his vision and gently laying one hand on the side of his face. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dev whimpered, leaning into her touch. “Your hands…” he whispered.

Win jumped back with a soft cry. “I’m sorry, Dev. I’m so sorry.”

“No…” Dev’s arm twitched towards her. “No...you don’t...your fingers are...soft.” 

Jakes sucked in a sharp breath.  _ God _ . How many times had Zorander run his pain-drenched fingers over Dev’s arms? How long had it been since Dev had welcomed a friendly touch? 

Win tentatively stroked her fingers over Dev’s forehead and into his hair. A small smile snuck across his face, something so tender and contented that Jakes wished he could tear Zorander from limb to limb. How  _ dare _ the wizard take so much from them. From Dev. From Win. How  _ dare _ he. 

Win laughed, a rather choked, sobbing sort of laugh, but a laugh all the same. She brushed her hand over her son’s wayward curls again.“No one can hurt you here.” She pulled back a bit, allowing Fred to inch closer to the bed. “You’re father is here, too.”

Dev’s head snapped back up, his eyes searching for his father. “Dad?!” There was a wildness in his voice that Jakes knew was dangerous. Monica inched forward, her hands ready to calm him if needed. But Dev’s shoulders relaxed as soon as his eyes settled on Inspector Thursday. “ _ Dad _ .”

“I’m here, lad.” Thursday’s voice was rough with emotion. He wrapped his hand over Win and Dev’s joined hands. “I’m here, and you’ll be alright.”

Dev’s eyes flicked between his parents. His mind seemed to be churning, trying to remember exactly how he ended up here.

Jakes knew the moment it all hit him. Dev stiffened, his eyes flying open in a blind panic. 

“Dad! Dad--- _ Peter _ .” Dev pushed against the bed, struggling to get up. Win and Monica moved at the same time. Dev shook his head violently, trying to get past Win to catch sight of his father. “Dad--no, no, let go--Dad--he tried…” Dev swatted at Win’s hands, his movements uncoordinated and jerky. “No, stop!…Dad--you have to help...Dad...he tried to--”

“I’m right here, Dev.” Jakes shouldered past Monica, reaching out to take Dev’s left hand. “I’m alright.” He leaned over the bed, trying to catch Dev’s gaze. “Dammit, Dev, calm down!” 

Monica glared at Jakes, but he ignored her.

Dev’s eyes focused on Jakes. “ _ Peter?” _

“I’m fine. I’m alright. Stop your worrying.” Jakes squeezed Dev’s hand. “I’m right here.”

Dev studied Jakes, his eyes flitting over every inch of him. Jakes breathed a silent prayer of thanks that the bruises from the house collapse had faded. They would have to tell him eventually, but he didn’t need to know right now. Jakes knew well enough they desperately needed to limit the shocks to Dev’s overwrought nerves right now.

“You’re okay?” Dev rasped. He glanced over to Inspector Thursday. “He’s okay?” 

A wry grin worked its way across the Inspector’s face, and Jakes had to try not to laugh. Of course Dev wouldnt’ trust just his word. Thursday nodded.

“He’s alright, Endeavour.” 

After a few tense heartbeats, Dev’s body relaxed, melting back into the pillows. “That was... _ stupid _ .” His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as his fingers tightened around Jakes’ hand. “Don’t...do that again.”

Jakes swallowed. “Dev... _ God _ , Dev.” He tightened his hold on Dev’s hand--or what he could reach of his hand under the cast. “You were dying. I had to try something.”

Dev shook his head. He fixed Jakes with a piercing stare. “Not worth...both of us dying.” He took a deep breath. “Stupid,” he whispered again.

Jakes grinned. There was that stubborn streak--a little weaker, but still there. 

For a moment, the atmosphere of the room relaxed. Dev was back with them, he was awake, they were all safe. Maybe, just maybe, they would all be okay.

Then Dev gasped. “Dad...Peter... _ Zorander _ . You have to--”

“He’s dead.” Inspector Thursday’s unemotional voice cut Dev off. “He’s dead, Endeavour.”

Dev froze, staring at his father. “How…”

“I shot him.” Jakes could see the tendons in Thursday’s jaw working. And he wondered exactly how much Thursday had  _ wanted _ to do to Zorander. Probably far more than Jakes himself could imagine. 

Confusion flickered across Dev’s face. “You...why?”

Jakes felt tears prick at his eyes at Dev’s tone. For all that  _ Morse _ had been an act, Peter knew that fifteen years without his family had left Dev with more than a few scars. Not all of that self-sacrificial way that  _ Morse _ threw himself into harms way had been false. There were still parts of Endeavour Thursday that couldn’t fully comprehend how much his family--and his friends-- cared about him. Fifteen years of convincing himself his family didn’t know him coupled with three years of working alongside a man who barely recognized him had left Dev unable to see how deep his father’s love for him truly ran. 

Peter knew, even if Dev himself wasn’t aware. Peter had seen it, more times than he would like to recall. He wondered now how much the Thursday’s knew. 

Inspector Thursday recoiled as if he had been slapped. “Dev---”

“He hurt you, Endeavour.” The steel in Win Thursday’s voice made Jakes shiver. “He took you from us, and he hurt you.” Her hand smoothed over Dev’s curls, the gentleness in her fingers belying the dangerous anger in her eyes.

_ A mother’s love _ , Jakes thought.

Dev stared at them both for a moment before nodding. Clearly, he had more questions, but would accept their answers for now. He was tiring rapidly, his eyelids drooping a little more each second. 

Jakes leaned a little closer to Dev. “They love you, you know.” Blue eyes met Jakes’ dark ones, and Dev gave him a small smile. He knew what Jakes meant.

Half a breath later, Dev’s eyes opened wide again. 

“Kienan.” Dev glanced between Jakes and Inspector Thursday. “Kienan...who...who killed him?”

Jakes recoiled as visions of that familiar face twisted in pain flashed before his eyes. “I did, Dev.” Jakes closed his eyes. “God help me, I killed him.” 

Jakes knew the pain in his soul was bleeding into his words; he couldn’t help it. In his anger, hee had only added to Dev’s pain. That guilt would stay with him, Dev’s face would haunt his dreams for years.

“Peter.” Dev’s voice was barely a whisper, his energy seeping away with each word. “Thank you.”

Jakes’ eyes flew open. There was no anger, no frustration on Dev’s face. Not even  _ forgiveness _ . Just...gratitude. Pure gratitude. 

“Dev?”

“Thank you.”

“No, Dev...I...I didn’t know it was a blood shimmer.” The words came pouring out of Jakes’ mouth. He had to apologize, Dev had to  _ know _ . “I didn’t know it would transfer. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dev, I swear--”

“ _ Peter _ .” For a moment, Dev was  _ the Captain _ again. “Peter, look at me.” Jakes did. “The spell...it was complete.”

Horror washed over Jakes, cold and relentless.  _ Oh God. _ “No…”

Dev nodded. “They were just...waiting.” Anguish flickered in his eyes. “I was trying...to hold on. Was so tired.” His eyes closed. “I wouldn’t have...survived the night.”

Jakes felt his knees go weak.  _ So close _ . They had come so damn close to losing him. “Endeavour…”

Dev nodded. “I had...maybe a few hours left. At best.” He swallowed roughly. “If he...had gotten away…”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if we found you,” Jakes finished. 

“I would have...been gone…” Dev sucked in a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t … hold out much...longer.” He closed his eyes, trying to summon energy. “You...saved me. Don’t...you made...right call.”

Jakes bowed his head, trying to steady his breathing, trying to stop the room from spinning around him. He could feel the Thursday’s questioning eyes on him, as well as Monica’s shocked understanding. He couldn’t answer, not right then. Not... _ God. _

Dev tensed, his grip on Jakes’ hand becoming painful. “Peter…” he hissed.

Jakes started, glancing down at Dev’s face. He nearly swore. Dev had gone deathly pale, his eyes wide and suddenly filled with pain. The spell, damn it. Jakes knew this was a possibility, that the after effects of the spell would cause pain spasms. It was part of the standard information on  _sczhieldengoethe_ _ : malignant magic may take days to weeks to recede fully, often causing spasms and seizures which mimic the original incantation of the spell.  _ They could be just as painful and just as dangerous to the victim. 

_ Shit. _

“ _ Peter _ ,” Dev hissed again. He stared at Jakes, then flicked his gaze to his parents.  _ Get them out of here, _ his eyes seemed to say. “Peter,  _ please _ .” Dev snapped his mouth shut, clearly biting back a whimper.

Jakes spun, eyes searching for Monica. She was at his side in a split second. She gave him a curt nod, hands already hovering over Dev.

“Mrs. Thursday, sir--” Jakes rushed around the end of the bed, reaching out for Win’s arm. “We need to step outside.  _ Now _ , please.”

Win’s eyes widened. “What--”

“Please go with him,” Monica’s calm voice cut her protest off. “I have Dev. I’ll watch over him. Please, just step outside for a bit.”

Somehow, Jakes managed to drag both of Dev’s parents from the room. He knew what was coming, knew what Dev didn’t want his parents to see. Or hear. He knew, God damn it, he  _ knew _ .

It didn’t stop him from nearly collapsing when he heard Dev’s scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on vacation since Wednesday, and didn't have enough internet access to update. BUT I got a _ lot _ of writing done...like 10k words. Yoikes. Granted, about 2k of that went into a random cuddle fic _ just because _ but still.
> 
> I hope to have the other chapters up soonish. I uhhhhhhhhh. Yeah. I mean. Comfort. It's...it's coming. In bits and pieces. Because _ someone _ *glares at self* is committed to "realistic recovery". Whatever, self.


	23. I Will Make You Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Win is angry, Jakes has had _ enough _, and Monica is just so tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sing-song voice* I need to go to bed, I need to go to bed, I neeeeed to goooo to bed!
> 
> *sigh*
> 
> _ But I have so many words to share with you all! _

Win swayed in the hallway, and it was only her husband’s reflexes that stopped her from falling to the floor.

That was her son. That was  _ her boy _ . That...that horrible, pain filled scream. That was her Endeavour.

_ Oh God. _

She let Fred guide her into a chair, let him drape his coat over her shoulders. She let herself breathe, let the horror course through her veins.

And then she glared at Sergeant Jakes.

“What are they doing to my son?” She didn’t relish the way Jakes flinched from the venom in her voice. Nor did she regret it. That was her son. He had been taken from her. He had been tortured. He had been returned to her, and now they had ushered her out of the room, as if she was too weak to handle whatever was happening. 

That was her Endeavour. She would be  _ damned  _ if she let someone come between her and her son again.

Jakes didn’t answer, and Win felt fire race through her veins. She pushed herself to her feet, shaking off Fred’s hand.

“Tell me  _ now, _ Sergeant, or so help me I will…” Anger and fear choked her words, and she simply glared at Jakes.

Another scream echoed down the hallway. Win clenched her hands at her sides, willing her body to remain upright. It took every ounce of control she possessed to keep herself from running back to Dev’s room.

She fixed her stare on Jakes again, just in time to see a shudder run through him. He looked ill, and Win felt a flicker of concern through the haze of anger. 

“Jakes?” Win inched forwards, laying a hand on his shoulder. He flinched from the touch, but she ignored him. “Jakes, please.”

Up close, Win could see the way he was trembling. He wouldn’t look her in the eye, fixing his gaze intently on the floor. It struck her, then, how much it had hurt him to drag them from the room. How much he wanted to be next to Dev.

How close they had become.

“The spell,” he finally managed to choke out. “It…I can’t.  _ Please _ , I can’t do this anymore.”

“Oh, Peter.” Win’s anger melted at the desperation in his voice. She wrapped her arms around Jakes, pulling him close to her chest. “I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”

He curled into her embrace with a sob. It broke her heart to see him like this. Even before she knew who Sergeant Jakes was to her son, he had always seemed indestructible. Perpetually impeccably dressed and almost nauseatingly posh, he seemed to be made of polished steel. Here, shaking in her arms as his best friend lay writhing in pain, he seemed to be made of shattered glass.

“Why don’t we sit down.” Fred’s warm hands wrapped around her shoulders. She let him guide them both to the chairs nearby. 

Jakes broke away from her, sinking down into a chair and burying his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he murmured brokenly. 

“It’s alright, son.” Fred sat down on the other side of Jakes. Win wondered vaguely when it was that they had adopted him. Sometime in the nightmare of the last month, she supposed. 

Jakes shook his head. “It’s the spell. It…” He took a shuddering breath, finally managing to look up at them. He looked awful. “It lingers, sometimes. Often. Leaves the...leaves  _ Dev _ with...spasms. As if...as if Zorander was still…” He motioned with his hands, and Win nodded. Jakes’ red-rimmed eyes met hers. “He’s trying to protect you. Us. He knows...God, it’s not pretty.”

Win swallowed against the nausea that threatened her composure.

“Can Monica help?” Bless Fred for managing to ask the right questions.

Jakes nodded. “She should be able to dull it. Some. I think.” He shrugged, his face contorting in sorrow. “There’s...not much known. Not here, at least. No one uses the spell.” Jakes stared at his hands. “Why him? Why?” He glanced up at them, and for the first time, Win was glad of her age. 

It hurt her, pierced her deeply to know what had happened to her son. What was still happening. But she had Fred. She had experience, and a family, to soften this blow. Jakes was alone in this world. From the little that Fred had told her, much of his early life had not been easy. The best parts of his life, it seemed, had been the past ten years with Dev, and even that had not been easy. He had little to help him through this horror.

Well. Win straightened. He had  _ them _ .

She reached out and wrapped his hand in hers. He glanced up at her, confusion glimmering in his eyes. She smiled at him as gently as she could. Jakes held her gaze for a few seconds. Then his face crumpled and he fell forward with a sob.

* * *

He should probably be ashamed, Jakes thought as he finally pulled back from Win’s embrace. Sitting here crying like a child in the arms of his best friend’s mother--and his governor’s wife, no less. The poor woman had to be as distraught as he was. He had no right, really. 

When he managed to look her in the face, though, he saw only compassion in her red eyes. Inspector Thursday’s hand was a steady, comforting presence on his back. Jakes offered Win an apologetic smile.

“I’m...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“Nonsense.” Win reached out and straightened his tie. She fixed him with a stare that Jakes wondered if she learned from the Inspector. Maybe  _ he _ learned it from  _ her. _ “I’ve told you before, you might as well be one of us. I shouldn’t have gone at you like that.” She cleared her throat and glanced down the hall. Her calm facade slipped a bit. “I just...I wanted to be with him.”

“He...he didn’t want you to have to see...that.” Jakes glanced behind him at the Inspector. “He was trying to protect you both.”

Thursday’s face was grim. “That bastard…”

Jakes nodded, letting his own expression harden to match the flint in Thursday’s eyes. Zorander got off easy, far too easy. A bullet in his back had ended his life, before the wizard even knew he was in danger. What he had done to Dev…

“I won’t be chased out again.” Win’s soft voice brought Jakes out of his reverie. “I held him close to me when the bombs fell on London. Whatever that... _ creature _ did to him, he doesn’t have to go through this alone.”

“Mrs. Thursday, he...he wants to protect you--”

“I’m his mother,” she snapped. “I’m supposed to protect  _ him. _ ” 

“Win--” Inspector Thursday cut in.

“No.” Her eyes were fiery and fierce. “I will not be chased from that room again.”

“You may not have a choice, Mrs. Thursday.” All three of them jumped at the sound of Monica’s voice. “Please, don’t get up.” Monica circled to stand in front of them. Jakes studied her, not much liking what he saw. Her face was drawn and tired, her eyes sadder than Jakes had ever seen them. “He’s asleep now, resting as well as can be expected.”

She studied them for a moment, before tugging a chair over and collapsing into it. She adressed Win first. “I respect your desire to be with him, Mrs. Thursday. The Captain--”  
“Endeavour,” Win interrupted. 

Monica inclined her head. “Endeavour is in a delicate state. His body has healed from its physical wounds, as we had hoped. The broken bones will take longer to heal, of course, but they appear to be doing well.” Monica rubbed her hands together slowly, considering her next words. “ _Sczhieldengoethe_ often leaves the victim with damage to their nervous system, almost like...well, it’s as if the spell scrambles the signals to their brains. That’s how it works, really. It convinces the victim that they are in pain, even though there is no actual source of the pain.”

Jakes nodded. He knew as much. Knew how long this road was ahead of them. He didn’t know  _ how bad _ , and he wished she would get to the point. Her eyes searched his face, and he knew she could sense his impatience. 

Monica glanced between the Thursday’s. “Your son has endured more than any victim of  _ sczhieldengoethe _ that I’m familiar with. His recovery is not going to be short, nor will it be easy. Any shock to his system could be dangerous--strong emotions and physical pain could overwhelm him far too easy.” She turned to Win. “Endeavour doesn’t want you to know how much he is hurting.” Win opened her mouth to protest, but Monica raised her hand to silence her. “I know you want to be with him, and I don’t blame you. But he knows how much you would react to his pain. He’s been with families before, both in the Guard and with the police. He’s seen how they react to injured loved ones. Knowing that, Mrs. Thursday, it would cause him distress. And that is one thing he simply cannot undergo right now.”

Win whimpered. Inspector Thursday stood up, and moved to stand behind her. “Are you saying we can’t see our son?”

“No, Inspector.” Monica held his gaze evenly. “But you must put your personal feelings second to his. If he asks you to go, you _must leave_. I know it’s not easy. I know you both want to protect him. This is the only way you _can_ protect him right now.” She sighed. “You must know how selfless he is. His first thought is always to protect those around him. That’s what he’s doing right now. If you remain in the room, he will try and suppress the pain he’s feeling. I can’t help him then, and the effort of concealment might just kill him.”

Jakes felt the impact of her words pierce his heart like so many small daggers. They had Dev back, but keeping him...God, he didn’t know if they  _ could _ keep him safe.

“Monica,” he heard himself rasp. “What...what are his chances?”

She fixed him with an even stare. “Commander, he should not have survived.”

He couldn’t breath. He  _ couldn’t breath. _ He knew that, he knew that Dev shouldn’t have opened his eyes, shouldn’t have been talking, shouldn’t  _ be here _ . But to hear it...to hear it so bluntly.  _ God _ .

He heard Win gasp. Felt Thursday’s shock. But all he could see was Dev’s pale face from that night they found him. All he could remember was the horror that raced through his veins like acid when he thought they were already too late. 

Weeks later, he wondered if he had been right.

“He should not have survived,” Monica repeated. This time, though, instead of that cold, unforgiving calm, her voice was full of something like spring sunshine--weak but hopeful as it warmed their frozen hearts. “But he did. Somehow, Endeavour has survived. He fought against odds that should have killed him at least three times over. I’m not going to lie to you. He should not be here. But he is.” Her grim mask faded, and wonder sparkled in her eyes. “He is here, and he is determined to keep fighting. It’s not going to be easy. But... _ damn it _ .” 

Jakes jerked his head up. He had never heard the Healer curse, not in front of a patient’s families. There were tears in her eyes as she looked at him.

“He shouldn’t be here, Peter.” She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “His chances...they aren’t great, not according to any textbook I’ve ever read. But the recovery that lies in front of him is a hell of a lot easier than what he’s already survived.” She locked eyes with each of them in turn. “We have to be very careful. You  _ have _ to call for me, or the other Healers in the hospital if he begins to get upset, or appears to be in pain. You  _ have _ to do whatever he asks, or whatever we ask you to do.”

Monica paused, waiting until each of them agreed. Then she nodded. “His chances?”

She smiled. “Better than they should be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so fun fact, chapters 22-24 were all meant to be _ one. whole. chapter. _
> 
> Except the characters didn't cooperate so we got three out of them. Send. Help. (or comments :D )


	24. I am Still Right Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some questions are answered, and Jakes does a sneaky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since chapters 22-24 all actually went together, I wanted to get them all up tonight so that all the loose ends were wrapped up. Also, I have 0 impulse control. Chapter 25 is mostly written, but it needs some polishing. Chapter 26 is about halfway done. I think.
> 
> When is this ending? 
> 
> _ Who. Knows. _

Monica let them into Dev’s room just long enough to reassure them that he was, in fact, sleeping relatively peacefully. Then she ushered them out and pointed them towards the cafeteria.

The three of them sat in silence, nursing weak tea and their own deep fears. There was little comfort to be had in that too-white room, but they managed to find some in the simple fact of one another’s presence.

Jakes wasn’t sure how long they sat there before Inspector Thursday broke into their thoughts. Jakes rather wished he hadn’t, not with the way his body grew cold with the Inspector’s question.

“Jakes...what did Dev mean, when he said the spell had...completed?”

“The blood shimmer...it...they...those spells…” Jakes cut himself off and took a deep breath. He didn’t need to go falling apart again. Win patted his hand, and he took comfort in the gesture. “When the spell is complete, it...it’s like it has succeeded in copying the victim’s identity completely to the host.” Jakes picked at a splintered piece of the table. He felt as if he were reciting from a textbook. And  _ God _ , did he wish he they were discussing some textbook case. Not his best friend. Not their son. Not someone they all knew and loved.  _ Not Dev. _

“This creates essentially two of the same person, which also creates a rift of sorts in the fabric of the world.” He shrugged, knowing it was hard to explain any of this without sounding completely mad. “It’s as if the spellcaster has ‘tricked’ the rules of magic, and the magic decides to fight back.”

Jakes glanced between the two of them, relieved to see that they seemed to be understanding him. “It makes blood shimmers unstable in a way that regular shimmers aren’t. A regular shimmer...it just creates a sort of ‘mask’ that the host can wear, rather than a copy of the victim. Once...once a blood shimmer had completed, there’s a limited amount of time that the host... and the original can...exist in the same universe.” 

Jakes felt his hands start to shake, and he gripped his cup of tea tightly. “One of them  _ will _ die.” He stared at his hands, unable to look up at either of Dev’s parents. “It’s almost always the victim. They’re...so weakened by the...lack of blood.” He cleared his throat, trying desperately to hang onto some semblance of control. “That’s really why the spellcasters are so vicious. They’re trying to weaken the victim.” He coughed, hoping to cover up the sob that rose in his throat. “They can’t outright kill the victim, the spell is too unstable for that. Too many things could go wrong. So they just...wait.”

He forced himself to look at them, then. The expression on Win’s face nearly broke his heart. The Inspector’s face...it reminded Jakes of the rumors that circulated about Fred Thursday’s history in the police department. He didn’t doubt them. Not one bit.

“If you hadn’t killed that... _ thing _ ...” Inspector Thursday’s voice was deathly calm.

“The only...the only way we could have saved Dev…” Jakes clenched his fists against the wave of nausea that rolled over him.

“Was for you to kill Kienan,” Thursday finished quietly. 

Jakes nodded. “I didn’t want to hurt Dev…” he shuddered. “But...if I hadn’t killed…_Kienan_...”

“You did, though.” Win’s hands covered Jakes’. “You did, and you brought him back to us.” Her thumbs stroked over his hands. “You brought him back, and that’s all that matters now.”

* * *

Monica finally persuaded Inspector and Mrs. Thursday to return home. Joan and Sam needed to be informed about their brother’s return to consciousness (Jakes did not envy them  _ that _ conversation) and Dev needed to rest. The Thursdays conceded with a little less fight than usual, likely owing to Monica’s earlier discussion.

It was nearly midnight when Jakes followed them out of the hospital. He politely turned down their offer of a ride. It was a nice night out, and he really needed some time to himself. It took some doing, but he finally managed to convince even Win that he would be fine. He headed down the sidewalk, pretending not to be following their every move.

Peter Jakes had no intention of going home.

He knew damn well that Dev wouldn’t sleep through the night. And he also knew how much Dev hated hospitals. There was no way Jakes was leaving Dev there alone. No way in hell.

Jakes hadn’t gotten to be the Commander of the Guard based on his relationship with Dev alone. He knew how to be invisible, and he knew the hospital’s routine well. A few well placed spells had him back on Dev’s hall within a few minutes.

The guards outside of Dev’s room--Guard members, both of them-- simply nodded when he shuffled past them. The walls of Dev’s room had been heavily warded; it would take an exceptional magic user to get past them, and even then, several of the protective spells would warn of an intrusion.

Dev was still sleeping when Jakes curled himself up in the large armchair pulled next to the bed. Jakes spared the new chair’s appearance only a cursory thought before turning his attention to his Captain. Dev looked less peaceful than earlier, but his breathing was even and soft. Jakes tucked his legs under him and nestled down into the chair. Whoever had brought in in here must have been thinking of Win. 

Jakes detected the presence outside the door a full minute before the door swung open. It took him less than ten seconds to place himself between the Dev and the door, and he had a spell ready in the space of two heartbeats.

“Relax, Commander.” Monica’s voice filtered around the edges of the door as it opened. “It’s only me.”

Jakes let the spell die in his hands, but refused to move from Dev’s side. “I’m not leaving him,” he murmured.

Monica gave him a small smile as she moved to stand by Jakes. “I didn’t expect you to.”

“What?”

“Who do you think brought that chair in here?” Monica smiled up at him. “Oh, here’s a blanket too.”

Jakes took the offered blanket a bit drunkenly. “You...you knew I would be back?”

Monica nodded, then pushed him back towards the chair. She waited until he sat before she spoke again. “You’ve barely left this hospital these past weeks. I knew once he was awake, we wouldn’t be able to get you out of here.” She glanced over at Dev, then perched on the arm of Jakes’ chair. Her dark eyes were troubled. “I hope I wasn’t too hard on them, earlier. He’s...he’s so fragile right now, Commander.”

“It’s Peter, Monica. And no, I don’t think you were. They...they needed to know.” Jakes stared at Dev. This was dangerous, this recovery. And though Dev’s parents might mean well, there were so many things that could go wrong. “They need to know how serious this is,” Jakes added quietly.

Monica sighed. “You’ve been around these cases before. You understand. I know...I know I can trust you around him.” She slipped off the chair and stood next to Dev’s bed. Her fingers danced lightly up his arms as she read him. When she turned to face Jakes again, her face was calm but her eyes bore traces of fear. “He has a good chance, but even a mother’s intuition can be too much for him right now. We can’t lose him.”

Jakes heaved himself out of his chair. “I know. And I’m glad you told them.” He let one hand rest on Monica’s shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to be objective about my patients.” Monica wrapped her arms around herself. “I think I may be struggling a little bit with this one.”

“You’ve known him a long time,” Jakes murmured. “You’re allowed to feel a little differently.”

“I suppose.” She stood motionless for a few moments, staring down at Dev. “I’m staying in the nurses’ ward tonight.” Monica turned to Jakes, all buisiness again. “I know I don’t have to tell you that he’ll be disoriented when he wakes. Bring him back as quickly as you can. And that won’t have been his last spasm, unfortunately. Send for me as soon as the next one hits. Don’t let him ride it out.” She smiled up at him. “I know that you will take good care of him, Commander.”

Then she was gone, leaving Jakes alone in the room with Dev.

He stood there for a few moments, watching the steady rise and fall of Dev’s chest. Each second that ticked by, every moment that Dev was calm, every heartbeat that passed was one more that he was still with them. Jakes could only hope that those heartbeats and breaths and seconds would keep adding up until there was nothing left to fear.

Jakes bent down over Dev, pulling the blanket up closer to his chin. 

“You’re safe, my friend,” he whispered. “Sleep well.” Jakes let his hand linger on Dev’s shoulder, smiling a bit at the way his magic seemed to recognize Dev’s. 

Finally, Jakes stepped back from Dev. He shoved the chair closer to the bed and then slipped off his shoes and his tie. Once he had curled up in the chair once again, he wrapped the blanket around his legs and shoulders. He glanced around the dimly lit room one last time, making sure everything was in place. Satisfied, he turned back to Dev.

Jakes laid his hand gently on Dev’s arm, and whispered a small spell. His magic hovered between them, ready to wake Jakes as soon as Dev began to stir. It was the best he could do for now. Jakes took a deep breath, and settled himself into the chair. He wasn’t sure if he would sleep, but he was fairly certain he would actually  _ rest _ for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am _ going to bed. _
> 
> Many thanks to guardianoffun who endures my screaming and screams back at me. Thanks also belong to hekate1308, mud_lark, fitzrove, and jasmiinitee because you all have put up with me screaming about my rambling fics as well (and I hope I spelled everyone's pseuds correctly. I'm too tired/lazy to go hunting. Y'all know who you are. I love you all. You put up with me. It's great.
> 
> Oh, and thanks to you, lovely reader, for reading and enjoying this fic. It means a lot to know someone is reading, even if you are too shy/braindead/afraid to comment. I still love you <3


	25. My Sweetest Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please...don't hate me? Heh...

Fifteen years of trying to make a living in the middle of a nightmare had left Endeavour Thursday with good instincts. His natural magical abilities had honed those instincts until they were razor sharp. Even this close to death, Endeavour was far more aware of his surroundings than most people ever were. Before he had even fully returned to consciousness, his mind had already processed the faint traces of aftershave, cigarette ash, and pomade in the air. _ Peter_, was his first thought.

_ Lies, fear, _ and _ Zorander _ were his next.

Panic flared through him, and his eyes flew open. _ Please, no! _ was all he had time to think before the worried face of Peter Jakes filled his field of view.

“You’re okay, Dev.” Peter’s voice was warm and firm and it sounded _ real. _ “You’re in hospital, and you’re safe. Focus, Dev. Your hand is in mine. Squeeze your fingers. I’m real, I promise.”

_ Sczhieldengoethe_, Dev’s mind supplied. _ Panic is deadly. _ His fingers twitched, ever so slightly. He was afraid, so afraid, that this Peter was just another part of his nightmares. 

But there was skin, there, skin and bones. The whirlwind in his mind suddenly calmed as he registered _ fingers. _ Real fingers. He squeezed harder and could have cried when he felt those fingers _ squeeze back _.

“Peter?” His voice sounded rusty and pathetic to his own ears, but it didn’t echo the way it had before, when stone walls and blood magic whispered his own voice back at him.

Peter nodded. “I’m real, Endeavour.” Peter’s dark eyes searched his face. “I need you to focus on me, okay?”

_ Keep the victim calm. Any shock to their system can overwhelm the pain-drenched senses. _

Part of Dev rather wished he could shut that maddeningly calm voice down. Another part was just glad he was capable of processing _ anything_.

“Peter.” He repeated. He squeezed Peter’s hand again. When he felt the answering pressure, he couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. “Thank God...you’re real.”

Relief washed over Peter’s face. “I’m right here, Dev. I’m real.” 

There was a hand on his shoulder then, warm and kind and thrumming with Peter’s magic. God, did it feel good to be _ touched _ again. No pain. No fear. Just...kindness.

“Do you remember anything from earlier?” Peter’s voice was soft, guiding him back from his memories. “Your mum and dad were here.”

It took a moment, but he did remember. His mother’s soft voice, the feel of her fingers in his hair. His father’s calm rumble, the strong pressure of his hand over the place where his mother held Dev’s own hand. Monica too, hovering just on the edges. Then Peter and questions and answers and then pain again, but he wasn’t going to think about that.

He nodded instead. “I remember.” He glanced over Peter’s shoulder. “Did they...go home?”

“They had to tell Joan and Sam,” Peter replied. The bed dipped as Peter sat next to him. “They didn’t know we were going to wake you.”

That didn’t make sense. “Wake me?”

Peter’s hand moved to his hair, and Dev tried not to look too pleased. He shouldn’t be, not really but...but..._ God_, how he had longed for touch that didn’t bring pain.

Peter laughed softly. “Your hair is a mess, Endeavour. You would be horrified if you could see.” 

He smiled back at Peter, grateful for whatever understanding he manged to posses that allowed Peter to offer him this. “Thank you.”

Peter’s eyes laughed at him. “You were in a healing coma, Dev.” His hand rubbed soothingly up Dev’s arm, the gentle pressure keeping him grounded. “They needed to give your body a chance to heal.”

A distant part of his brain replied _ correct triage of sczhieldengoethe injuries_. He ignored it.

“How long,” he manged to croak instead.

“Three weeks,” Peter whispered. “Three weeks, Dev.” The hand on his arm paused. “I’ve been so scared. We all have been, really. They didn’t know if it would work.” The hand have his arm a light squeeze and then resumed its path.

“Still here.” There was a time that he would have smacked himself for this lack of eloquence. Right now, he was too tired to care. Besides, this was Peter. Peter had seen him quite solidly drunk before. This couldn’t be that bad. Maybe.

Peter huffed a laugh. “Just barely, Dev.” His face darkened. “Dev...look. You…” Peter stopped, his eyes fluttering closed and his head sagging forward.

_ Peter was hurting _. The thought flashed through Dev’s mind, and he had to quell the sudden urge to surge upwards. The need to comfort Peter was strong, far more than a habit after the ten years they had spent together. But he couldn’t, he wasn’t strong enough, damn it.

Peter’s eyes opened again, and as they tracked over Dev’s face, realization washed over Dev. _ Peter was hurting because of _him.

“You nearly died, Endeavour.” Peter’s voice was ragged and low. “You...Dev you’re still much closer to death than you are to life. Please...Dev you have to be careful.” Peter’s words were coming rapidly, and Dev could see his fear printed plainly on his face. “You have to listen to the Healers. You can’t....Dev---”

“Peter.” He had to stop this. It took effort, but Dev managed to convince his hand to latch on to Peter’s. “Peter, stop.” Peter froze. “I am...Captain of the Guard.” Dev sucked in a breath. “I know...damn well what they...did to me.” Another breath; this one came easier. “I know...the dangers.” He squeezed Peter’s hand. “I hung on...this long. Won’t stop now. Promise.”

Peter let out a shaky breath. “Stubborn bastard,” he whispered. “God, you scared me.”

His answering grin was wobbly, Dev knew. Probably more than a bit sickly too. It had been a while since he had any reason to smile. He was a little out of practice.

“Was a bit scared...myself.”

Peter ruffled his hand through Dev’s hair, the grin on his face one of the most beautiful things that Dev had seen in a long while.

It was interesting, this new world. One in which the hands that touched him didn’t bring pain and the faces that hovered over him didn’t sneer at him. He knew this was what the world was really like; that stone hell hadn’t been the only thing he’d ever known. There had been a while, though, when he thought it would be the last thing he would have. It might take a while before he really believed he was free of that place.

He turned back towards Peter, taking a moment to drink in the sight of a friendly face.

Then the pain hit.

* * *

There were still so many things that could go wrong. So many steps between here and healing. So many ways that the universe could still take Endeavour Thursday from him. But right now, right here, in this moment, Peter Jakes let all those fears fade into the background. 

Right now, Dev was staring up at him with clear, focused eyes. Right now, he was responding with a trace of his usual cheek. Right now, he was calm and aware.

Until he wasn’t. 

It was the change in those blue eyes that Jakes registered first. They clouded over for a moment, flashing first with fear and then pain. Dev’s fingers tightened on Jakes’ hand, sudden and harsh. His whole body stiffened next, and Jakes cursed.

No, Goddammit, _ no. _

Jakes jumped off the bed. He needed to give Dev space. He needed to get Monica. _ Now _. 

Except Dev didn’t let go.

“Peter.” The word was little more than a pained hiss, but Jakes heard it all the same. “Stay. Please.”

Jakes spun around, horrified at the change that had come over his best friend. Dev’s eyes were wide with panic and his chest was heaving. He looked terrified and _ lost _.

“Okay, okay! Dev, I won’t go anywhere.” Jakes bent over Dev. He waited until Dev’s gaze had shifted to his face. “What do you need?”

“Don’t...leave,” Dev gasped. There was as much fear in his voice as pain. “Please...don’t leave. I’ll...I don’t know...I can’t keep..._ Peter, help me. _”

Jakes felt as if his world was crumbling in front of him. This was his best friend, his Captain, begging him for help. And he had no idea how to help him.

“I’m here, Dev. I’m here.” Jakes’ hands hovered uselessly over Dev’s body. His mind was a whirlwind of fear. “I’ll stay right here, Dev. I promise.” 

Endeavour’s eyes focused on Jakes’ for a moment, and then a wave of pain crashed over him. 

Dev’s body arched off the bed with the force of the spasm. The cry that came out of his mouth was barely human, full of agony and a wordless fear. 

Jakes didn’t have time to think, to process the how or the why of his actions. He just _ moved _.

“Dev--Dev, look at me. _ Look at me _.” Jakes laid one hand on the side of Dev’s face, stilling it’s sickening rocking motion. He needed to get Dev grounded, get him to focus, keep him from getting lost in the anguish that was trying to drown him.

“Look at me, Dev.” Pain-dulled blue eyes cracked open, focusing immediately on Jakes’ face. “That’s it...that’s it. Hang on, Dev. Hang on for me.”

“Real,” Dev croaked. “You’re real.”

“I’m right here with you.” Jakes rested one hand on Dev’s shoulder. “Dev, hang on, okay? I’ve gotta get the Healer.”

“_ No! _ ” Dev curled towards Jakes, fear contorting his face. “Please--Peter, _ please… _”

“Dammit, Dev.” Jakes pushed him back on the bed. “Okay, okay, okay,” Jakes’ hands pushed gently into Dev’s shoulders. “I’ll stay.” His mind raced. Dev needed Monica. He needed her _ now. _ Every second that ticked by pushed him closer to that dangerous edge. “Dev, can I...the Guard has people outside. Can I call one of them in? Send them?”

Dev’s eyes flicked between Jakes’ face and the door. The fear on his face broke Jakes’ heart. Finally Dev nodded. “Just...don’t leave.” Another wave of pain hit, and Jakes had to turn away before he threw up. 

“_ Maribesth!” _ A pale young woman stuck her head around the door. “Get the Healer,” Jakes barked. “She’s on the nurses ward. Do _ not _ leave your post.” They couldn’t risk leaving just one guard outside. “Get a nurse, and get the Healer down here. _ Fast. _” Maribesth nodded, her luminous eyes glancing over to her Captain before she vanished again.

Jakes turned back to Dev. He was writhing on the bed, arms thrashing wildly. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and his eyes were closed. His lips were moving in a soundless litany. 

Jakes tried to still Dev with a gentle hand on his pale face. Dev shuddered at his touch. A small whimper slipped past his lips. 

“Endeavour? Dev, look at me.” Dev squeezed his eyes shut. He shook his head. _ Damn it. _ “C’mon, Dev. Open your eyes. I need you to look at me.” Dev moaned. “I’m right here, Dev. I’m right here. _ Please, _Dev, please look at me.”

“Peter?” Dev’s eyes opened ever so slightly. “Still...here.” His eyes widened and he lurched forwards. “You’re...still here. Thank _ God _.”

Jakes struggled to get Dev back on the bed. “I’m right here, Dev. I never left.” He found Dev’s hand and squeezed it. “Feel that? I’m right here.” 

Dev’s eyes widened. His fingers folded around Jakes’. “You’re here. Peter. You’re _ real _.”

“Dev, Monica is coming.” Jakes rubbed his thumb over the back of Dev’s hand. “She’s coming, and she can help with your pain.” Dev just _ stared _at him. Jakes didn’t even know if he was listening, if he could hear Jakes’ words. “Dev? Tell me how to help you, Dev. What...what do you need?”

“Don’t...leave.” A whimper slipped past his lips, and Endeavour tightened his grip on Jakes’ hand. “I can’t...I don’t know...where I am.” Dev hissed in pain. “I don’t...can’t...he would just..._ leave _ .” Dev’s eyes searched Jakes’ face. “Would hurt me...then _ leave _ . Was alone.” His words were coming faster again, more frantic. “I don’t want...to be alone. Don’t want...you...please... _ be real _ .” Dev shuddered as another spasm raced through him. “The pain...I can’t focus...don’t know...I can’t tell... _ please, Peter.” _

Jakes sucked in a breath as understanding slammed into him. He slid his hand up into Dev’s hair, mimicking the way Win had stroked her hand through his curls. _ Sczhieldengoethe _ victims often went mad, supposedly from the pain. If Jakes was piecing Dev’s fragmented words together correctly, the pain was making him question reality. He didn’t know if he were really in the hospital, or just hallucinating. 

_ Damn it. _

“Endeavour Thursday,” Jakes lowered himself over Dev, obscuring the rest of the room from his view. He had to keep Dev grounded, keep him aware of what was real. “You are safe. I am real, okay? I want you to look at me. Focus on my voice. Focus on the way you can feel my hand in yours. You’re in hospital. You’re safe. Do you understand me?”

Dev’s eyes widened, but there was amazement in them rather than fear. “You’re...real.” His gaze wandered over Jakes’ face, then down to their joined hands. He twitched his fingers, watching the way Jakes’ fingers moved in response.

“I’m real,” Jakes murmured. He let his hand trail down to Dev’s shoulder. “Can you feel that?” Dev nodded. “Focus on that, not the pain. Not your memories. This is real, okay? Zorander is dead. He can’t hurt you.”

Dev stiffened as another spasm struck. His eyes stayed focused on Jakes’ face, his hand squeezing Jakes’ hand _ hard. _

“It’s okay, Dev,” Jakes soothed. He tried his best to keep his face neutral, but _ God _, did it hurt to see Dev like this. “It’s okay. You can cry or scream or whatever. I’m here with you, and I promise you’re going to be okay.”

Dev stared at Jakes with an intensity that frightened him. “You’re still...here.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Dev. I promise.” Dev’s head bobbed in a small nod. Jakes brushed his fingers over Dev’s forehead again. “Dammit, Dev, I want to help you.”

“You are,” Dev whispered. His eyes had yet to leave Jakes’ face. “You’re...here. Don’t want...to be..._ alone _.”

It wasn’t enough, though. Jakes could see Dev slipping as a stronger spasm sunk its claws into his frayed nerves. Dev screamed. He curled onto his side, sobs wracking his thin frame

Jakes dove forward, wrapping his arms around Dev’s flailing body. “Dev--Dev, it’s okay, it’s going to be alright.” Jakes pulled Dev to him, cradling his best friend in his arms. “Dev, can you hear me? God, _ Endeavour, _ please... _ ” _

Dev shuddered, but Jakes felt a hand curl into his shirt. “Peter.” 

It wasn’t a question this time. It wasn’t afraid, or confused. It was a statement of fact. Jakes froze.

“Peter. You’re here.” Dev curled into Jakes’ arms. “Oh, God, you’re here.”

Jakes’ fingers massaged the back of Dev’s head. _ Zorander hadn’t touched him, except to bring him pain _ . Maybe...maybe that’s what Dev needed. Contact that wasn’t _ pain. _ He’d chased his mother’s hands and sought out Jakes’ own hand. Maybe _ this _ is what he needed.

“I’m here, Dev. I’ve got you.” Jakes rubbed one hand on Dev’s back. “I’m here. You’re safe. I _ promise _ you…” Jakes broke off as tears blurred his vision. “God dammit, Dev. He’s not going to get to you.”

Dev stared up at him, his blue eyes full of pain, but focused intensely on Jakes’ face. “I...I believe you.” He swallowed thickly, stiffening as another spasm of pain rolled through him. His lips twitched in a cruel parody of a smile. “Always...there for me. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry....uh, yeah. Sorry. Ummm.  
So I realized that this story has become an oddly cathartic experience for me? The effects of the _ sczhieldengoethe _ (somewhat unintentionally) mirror the various chronic issues that I have. I've rather enjoyed being able to write Dev going through this, as well as his loved ones worrying about him--and eventually comforting him. I apologize for spending so much time on it...apparently my brain has a Need to Project. Actual comfort coming soon(ish)
> 
> More chapters coming soon. This week has been absolutely N U T S. I've had a sinus infection, moved school buildings, and now my body is throwing a fit because I had two cups of coffee. Anyhow.


	26. Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this is coherent. I was kind of...speed typing as things popped into my head with 0 impulse control so uh. Yeah. 
> 
> Anyhow, you might wanna have a tissue or two handy. Jakes has Emotions.
> 
> Oh also...guess what? This disaster is now my longest single fic.  
Whut.

Jakes’ heart was breaking. He hadn’t thought it possible, that there was anything left to break--but clearly there was. In all the years they had been friends, Jakes had seen Dev in pain before. He’d seen Dev flinch when his father called him  _ Morse. _ He’d seen Dev cry out from a stab wound. He’d seen Dev abandoned in a field with a bullet in his hip and a soul-crushing hole in his heart. 

This though. This was so much worse.

When working with a father that no longer knew him became too much for Dev, Jakes could listen to him recount his childhood memories. When Dev got too drunk from his sorrow, Jakes was there to help him sober up. When bullets and knives and spells managed to puncture Dev’s skin, Jakes was there to bandage and soothe and comfort.

This? There was nothing Jakes could do. No wounds to bandage, no tears to dry,  _ nothing _ he could do. Oh, sure, he could try to take Dev’s pain. He’d done it before and he would do it again in a heartbeat if it would help. But Dev was conscious, and Jakes knew he would panic if Jakes so much as  _ tried _ . Endeavour hated it when Jakes tried that spell--it was dangerous and difficult and almost never ended well. Not that Dev didn’t do the same when Jakes was hurt. But right now, Jakes couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk Dev getting upset.

Dev was already too close to the edge of madness. His eyes were glazed in pain, his body shaking with it. It was too much, too much,  _ too much _ \--and Jakes could feel himself beginning to fall apart at the edges. He couldn’t lose Dev, not now, not like this.

God,  _ please _ .  _ Don’t let him die in my arms. Not like this. Please _ .

Jakes felt Dev jerk in his arms, and he glanced down in horror. Dev’s muscles were twitching--his arms and fingers moving without his permission. Jakes swore.  _ No, no no! Fuck, no.  _ The pain signals were overwhelming his body, breaking down the normal pathways of his nervous system.  _ Where was Monica? _

“Dev--God, Dev, stay with me,” Jakes pleaded. He ran his fingers through Dev’s hair, his other hand clutching his best friend’s trembling body. “ _ Please _ , don’t leave me.”

Jakes felt Dev’s hand twist at his shirt.

“Right...here, Peter.” Dev’s voice was drenched in pain, but surprisingly steady. “I’m...here. Not...going anywhere...if you...stay too.” He sucked in a shaky breath. Jakes felt Dev’s head curl towards his shoulder. “You’re... real. Not...pain.”

Jakes let out a choked laugh. “God, Dev... _ God. _ ” What was he even supposed to say to that? 

Dev clenched his jaw, a stubborn look creeping into his eyes. Jakes bit back a sob.  _ God _ , he looked so much like the Captain--the Dev he knew and loved. 

“I’m...right...here,” Dev bit out. “Don’t...give up...on me.”

Jakes let his tears fall then. “Never. God, Dev, I wouldn’t. I just...I want to help you.” He smoothed his hands through Dev’s hair again, trying desperately to ignore the way Dev’s body twitched against him. Jakes closed his eyes, bowing his head low. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.” He was crying now, his voice breaking on his words. “I can’t take this from you, Endeavour.”

“Peter…” Dev gasped. “Look...at me.” Jakes forced his eyes to meet Dev’s. There was a strange calmness in those blue eyes. “You are helping.” His breath hitched, but his eyes didn’t leave Jakes’ face. “You’re...here. Don’t want...to be... _ alone _ .” Dev’s hand tightened on Jake’s shirt again, and Jakes saw pain flicker across his face. “Hurts less...with you here. Something...to focus on. Not...fear and darkness.”

Dev’s breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with the effort it took to talk. Jakes felt like he was watching his best friend die, right in front of him. It felt as if he could feel the life draining from him. He could feel his own panic building, but he tried to fight it down. Tried to believe in Dev, tried to focus but--

The door behind them creaked open, and they both jumped. Fear flooded Dev’s face again, and Jakes hurried to calm him.

“Dev, no_\--look_ _at me.”_ Jakes cupped Dev’s face. “It’s Monica, Dev. She’s a Healer, remember? She’s going to help you.”

Dev turned wide, questioning eyes to Jakes. “Not... _ them? _ ”

“No, Dev. It’s not them.” Jakes squeezed Dev’s hand again. “You’re safe. I promise.”

“You’re at the John Radcliffe, Captain.” Monica’s voice was warm and calm, her words flowing in a musical pattern that seemed to wrap its way around Jakes’ soul. He felt himself relax as she came to stand next to them. “My name is Monica Hicks. Do you remember me?”

Dev stared at Jakes, as if asking for permission to look at her. Jakes smiled. “She’s real too.” Jakes saw concern flicker across Dev’s face.  _ Oh. _ “I won’t disappear. I’ll be right here, okay.” 

Dev’s lips twitched and his fingers curled tighter into Jakes’ shirt. His eyes slowly shifted to Monica’s face. He stared at her for a long moment before he managed something halfway between a grimace and a smirk. “I’m not...that far gone, Monica. I...know you.”

Monica’s eyes widened slightly and Jakes saw amazement reflected in her eyes.. Her gaze flicked to Jakes, then back to Dev. “I’m glad to hear it, Captain.” She smiled gently. “I’d like to help with your pain. May I touch you?”

Dev regarded her upraised hands warily. Jakes felt his muscles tense beneath his hands; another spasm was building.

“Dev,  _ please _ . Let her help you.”

Dev gasped as the pain hit him. “ _ Please _ ,” he whimpered.

“I’ve got you, Captain. Just relax.” Her slender hands closed gently around Dev’s left arm. “Take a few deep breaths for me, please.”

Jakes watched as Dev’s eyes shifted to Monica’s face. Some of the tension seemed to bleed out of Dev’s tense shoulders as soon as Monica’s hands touched his skin. Jakes breathed a sigh of relief.  _ God,  _ he was shaking. 

He had known fear before. He had watched Dev nearly die in front of him before, too many times. But he had never felt quite as helpless as he had in those moments, watching as the pain and terror tried to destroy what little sanity Dev had left.

_ God. _

Jakes leaned back, loosening his hold on Dev. Monica had him now, Jakes could see his friend relaxing as her healing spell worked its way through his system. But as he moved his hand from Dev’s forehead, he heard a frightened gasp.

“ _ Peter.” _

“Commander!”

Dev’s terrified whisper and Monica’s sharp command overlapped. Jakes froze in confusion, his eyes darting between Dev and Monica.

“Peter, please.” Dev’s eyes’ were wide with fear again. “Don’t... _ don’t _ .”

“Don’t let go of him, Commander.” Monica’s voice was low and soft, but there was an undercurrent of concern in her words. And power. Her eyes met his. “Don’t. Let. Go.”

Jakes tightened his arm around Dev’s shoulders again. “Okay, alright. I’m here.” He glanced down at Dev. “I’m right here, Dev. I won’t leave you.”

Dev’s hand released it’s grasp on Jakes’ shirt and rather drunkenly sought Jakes’ free hand. Jakes grabbed at it, twining their fingers together. This was new, even for them, but the touch seemed to ground Dev. His shoulders’ relaxed and some of the fear faded from his eyes.

“Peter,” he whispered. Dev’s thumb rubbed weakly across Jakes’ knuckles. “ _ Peter. _ ” His eyes fluttered closed as his body slowly began to relax.

Jakes glanced up at Monica, hoping his question was clear in his eyes.

“He trusts you,” she murmured, not taking her eyes from Dev’s face. Her fingers danced across Dev’s body, stilling the twitching muscles as they went. “He recognizes that you are safe, that you’ll keep him safe.” She glanced up at him, something unreadable in her eyes. She opened her mouth, as if to continue, but a gasp of pain from Dev distracted her. She shook her head, and turned back to Dev. 

Jakes closed his eyes, listening to the gentle whisper of Monica’s spell as he held Dev in his arms. He prayed, though he didn’t know if anyone was listening, that this would work. That she could save Dev...that  _ they _ could save him.

_ Please _ .

* * *

It took well over a quarter of an hour, but finally-- _ finally-- _ Dev had relaxed. Jakes laid Dev back on the bed once Monica nodded at him. Dev murmured vaguely at them, but consented. He refused to let go of Jakes’ hand, though, and frankly, Jakes wasn’t willing to let him go just yet either.

“Stay…” Dev whispered. “Both ‘f you.” His eyes fluttered open just long enough to implore both of them not to leave. “Just ‘til...’m asleep. I don’t wan’...t’be alone.” 

“Alright, Captain,” Monica murmured. She brushed back Dev’s wild curls, a tremor of magic leaving her fingers as they brushed against Dev’s skin. “Do you need us to be quiet?”

“No...like hearing your...voices,” he slurred. “Reminds me…’m not alone.” 

Jakes eased the pressure on Dev’s hand ever so slightly. In response, Dev sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes flying open wildly.   
“_Peter._” Dev’s eyes sought Jakes’ face, clearly fighting against the pull of sleep. “Peter...will you...when I wake...I don’t want--”

“I’ll be here, Dev.” Jakes bent over Dev. “I won’t leave you, I promise.”

Dev’s shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “Than’ you...Peter.” 

Jakes smiled down at Dev as his eyes fluttered closed. “Just rest, Dev. Rest, my friend.” He took a deep breath and glanced up at Monica. “Thank you.”

She gave him a steady stare for a long moment. “I was afraid, you know. When Maribesth found me.” Her eyes turned back to Dev. “They’d called me to casualty to help another patient. I knew it had taken her too long to find me.” Her fingers ghosted over Dev’s arms, and Jakes could feel another tremor of magic in the air. “Earlier, the first time it happened, was bad.” She took a deep breath and looked back up at Jakes.

Jakes felt cold fear trickle through his veins at the stark honesty in Monica’s eyes. There were many Healers who lied to their patient’s families-- _ compassionate mistruth _ they called it. Many families appreciated it, the ability of the Healers to soothe their nerves, even if it wasn’t quite the truth. Jakes hated it, and Monica knew. She’d worked with them before, him and Dev. She never lied to them. Jakes was used to her blunt honesty, and he appreciated it.

The way she looked at him now, though, sent ice straight to his heart. 

“I can tell the difference, you know, between emotional distress and pain distress. It’s essential in my job, I have to be able to soothe both. Especially for  _ sczhieldengoethe _ victims.” She sighed, her eyes wandering the room. “Some patients can handle one or the other. High readings of both can be deadly.”

Jakes’ fingers tightened over Dev’s hand.  _ Why are you telling me this? _ He knew it. He had known as much before this happened. He had spent the last three weeks researching--reading and rereading everything he could get his hands on. He  _ knew, _ dammit.

“He was in a lot of pain earlier, and his emotional distress was too high. That’s why I had to stop Win. He didn’t want them to see, and he can’t control his fears for them right now. He was trying to control his pain response, and that was making it all so much worse.” Her eyes snapped back to Jakes. He blinked, surprised at what was reflected back at him.  _ Hope _ . “He was in so much pain tonight, Commander. But he was  _ calm _ .” She glanced down at Dev. “He was confused earlier. It was almost as if he couldn’t tell where he was. Tonight, he was clear. He was hurting, badly, but he knew where he was. His emotional distress was almost nonexistent. It spiked though, when you tried to put him down. I felt it.” Her eyes met Jakes’ again. “It was like the ground dropped out from underneath him. He calmed as soon as you got his attention back.” She paused, then gave him a grateful smile. “That could have been-- _ should have been _ \--so much worse.”

Jakes glanced down at Dev. He wasn’t sure he could even process what she was saying. He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t been  _ able _ to do anything. Unless…

“He said they would just leave him.” Jakes ignored the way his voice cracked. It didn’t matter anymore. “Zorander would...hurt him. And then just walk away. I think...I think when the pain hits, he’s not sure if he ever really got away.” His eyes flicked up to Monica. “When I...when I picked him up, he seemed to focus on me.”

Monica nodded. “That tracks with what I could feel. Earlier, he seemed to be adrift, as if he were lost in the pain. When I came in, he was present. He knew where he was, and he knew who I was. He didn’t earlier.” She paused, lost in thought for a moment. Then she offered Jakes a tired smile. “Commander...the most dangerous part about his recovery is the chance that he will get lost. That the pain will eclipse everything he knows, and overwhelm him. If he can find an anchor...we have a chance.” 

Jakes clenched his free hand into a fist. “I won’t leave him.” Goddammit, if that’s what it took, he would stay here with Dev every minute. They could fire him. He didn’t care. If his  _ presence _ was enough to keep Dev with them, he would give every ounce of himself.

Monica’s smile turned softer. “It doesn’t have to be only you, Peter.” Her fingers ghosted over his arm, and he felt her magic wrap around his raw nerves. “If you can anchor him, that means he’s reachable. That means we can find other anchors. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Jakes shook his head stubbornly. “I won’t leave him to die.”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to.” Monica took a deep breath. Her hand settled on his--the one that held Dev--and he felt his shoulder’s relax. “We still have a long road ahead of us, and it won’t do him any good if you’re in distress. He can pick that up. It’s why he sent Win away.” She squeezed his hand, and he felt reassurance rush through him. “This is beyond good, Peter. This is a miracle. He knows what’s happening, and that means he can fight it. He knows that he needs an anchor, Peter. He knew enough to ask you to stay. Most...most victims can’t understand what’s happening. They try to fight it, and that makes it worse. He knew...he knew to cling to you. You anchored him, and he knew that.”

Jakes closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him along with her spell. He hadn’t known that was what he was doing, it was just instinct. He felt Dev and Dev’s magic crying out to him, and he had responded. 

“Commander?” Monica’s voice drew him back to the present. “You did well. I don’t know…” she sighed. “You saved him. He needed you and you were there for him. You grounded him. We can do this, alright?” He nodded. “You get some sleep. He should be at peace for a few hours, and it would do you well to rest for that long. Tomorrow, we’ll see if we can find him another anchor.” Monica’s warm smile wrapped around him like a blanket. “Every one of those that he survives brings him closer to safety. If we can keep him anchored for each one...well, we  _ can. _ ” 

Jakes let Monica push him back into his chair, let her drape a blanket over him. She made no move to disentangle his hand from Dev’s, and for that he was grateful. He thanked her quietly as she reset the spell to wake him if Dev began to stir. 

Then he let her and her Healer’s touch relax his tense muscles, let her words of hope echo in his mind, let Dev’s even breathing bring him peace.

Jakes drifted off to sleep, his fingers intertwined with those of his best friend, and a sense of hope in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E M O T I O N S.
> 
> Anyhow, I'm hoping it will be smoother sailing from here. Maybe. We'll see. That's my plan but y'all know how well my plans work out....*ahem*
> 
> Also send HELP I have an itch to write more angst and I need to not but also The Anxiety is poking me rather strongly (it's all good--I start work in a new building for school tomorrow and so the Change Anxiety is misbehaving) so idk if I can resist the Urge. Hmmmm


	27. (I'm On Your Side) When Times Get Rough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
Sorry for the delay. The past two weeks have been absolutely insane, trying to get used to a new school and new routines. Ultimately it's been great, but really exhausting. Plus, this chapter decided to fight me.
> 
> Absolutely 0% of this chapter was planned. It just _ happened. _
> 
> I'm not 100% happy with this disaster of a chapter, but I needed to just get it out. Hopefully it makes a little bit of sense and contributes to the overall story. Hopefully...

Dev had woken up a few times during the night, but only long enough to squeeze Peter’s hand before drifting off again. The spell woke Jakes a few moments before Dev each time, so Jakes could make sure that Dev woke up to a familiar face. Each time he woke, Dev’s eyes would take a moment to focus, his shoulders going tense in the few seconds of confusion before he settled on Jakes. 

Each time Dev relaxed back against his pillows, sighing in relief, Jakes felt hope unfurl a bit more in his chest. He knew from past experience how much Dev hated hospitals, how adrift he felt when he opened his eyes to white ceilings and blank walls. Something about the sterility of the hospitals reminded him of the stark turn his life had taken all those years ago. The sight would send him into a panic, even when he wasn’t bad off. Now, even a small level of panic could be deadly. Jakes would have stayed awake all night just to be there when Dev woke up. The small spell he managed to weave between them allowed him some much needed rest.

Pale morning sunlight had started to filter into the room by the time Jakes next awoke. Dev was still sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling with a peaceful regularity. Jakes stretched his aching back, then settled back in his chair. He watched Dev sleep for a while, drinking in the sight of Dev’s untroubled face. At least now he looked comfortable, unafraid. The sight calmed Jakes’ own nerves and seemed to almost soothe the crick in his neck. He hadn’t slept well, but seeing Dev safe and sleeping naturally was well worth the exhaustion.

Jakes’ sensed the disturbance outside Dev’s door well before the door opened. He wasn’t nearly as good with magic as Dev was, but he knew well enough how to tune himself into the perimeter spells and the aura’s of the two Guard members posted outside. They were surprised at the visitor, but in no way alarmed, so Jakes merely turned to stare curiously at the slowly opening door. 

Two nurses peered in, an older woman and a younger trainee. The older woman--_ Nurse Howard _, Jakes’ mind supplied--gave him an apologetic smile as she crept closer towards the bed. 

“Sorry to disturb you so early, dear. A Detective Inspector Thursday is on the phone. Said he called your home first and wondered if you had come in already. Sounded a bit worried about you” 

Jakes winced. He’d rather forgotten that Inspector Thursday might try and check in on him. Dev’s family had all but adopted him in the past few weeks, with Win hounding him to stay for dinner and Joan showing up with a spare sandwich for lunch. He’d fallen asleep on their couch more than once, waking to find himself covered with an old quilt. He was grateful, even if he didn’t quite know how to say so. He knew he had been a mess, staying up late to watch over the hospital, pouring over case notes, trying to find some way to save Dev. He wasn’t sure if he would have remembered to eat if it hadn’t been for the Thursday women.

And naturally his governor would try and check in, probably to see what time he was planning on heading in to the hospital. Jakes shook his head sheepishly.

“I suppose I should have left word,” he muttered.

The nurse smiled softly at him. “Why don’t you stretch your legs and pop down to the nurse’s station? You can have a quick chat with him. I’ll watch over this one for you,” she added, catching Jakes’ concerned glance at Dev. 

It took a good bit of convincing, but finally Jakes relented. Thursday would have his hide if he didn’t report in, and the man was probably worried that something had happened to Dev in the night. Jakes shivered at unwanted memories from the night before. Something _ had _ happened, but Thursday didn’t need to know that. Not right now at least. Not till he and Monica had worked out a plan. 

Jakes re-cast the spell over Dev, strengthening it a bit to give him time to return before Dev woke up. Once satisfied, he slipped through the door with one last look at his best friend. Dev was fine. He _ would be _ fine. Jakes took a deep breath before trotting down the hall towards the phone.

* * *

Nurse Miranda Lee watched the young man leave, trying not to let her awe show on her face. _ Commander Peter Jakes _ her mind whispered. Commander Peter Jakes, sitting vigil at the bedside of _ the Captain of the Guard _. Lord, what a story she would have to tell when she got back to her rooms. She’d heard about them, of course, the Captain and Commander. It was the Captain’s work that encouraged her to be open about her magical gifts. She had followed the formation of the Guard with interests, day-dreaming of the adventures of the Captain and Commander. 

She was old enough to admit now that she had been a little start struck in those days. Experience and a bit more knowledge had brought her to understand more about the Captain’s heartbreak, his tortured past, and how hard those early years had been. Miranda had a better grip on her infatuation now, more level headed and able to appreciate the tireless nights the Captain had put in to keep the magical community safe. Still, actually _ meeting _ the Captain and Commander...it made her head swim a bit.

Miranda was new to the John Radcliffe, this was only her second or third week. She had joined on, hoping to become a low-level Healer. Her physical healing powers weren’t strong, but she had a gift for comforting distraught family members. Within the week, Miranda was to begin training under the Radcliffe’s famed Healer, Monica Hicks. Miranda had expected her first few weeks as a _ boring nurse _ to drag; she wanted to stretch her magical talents after years of keeping them in check. Just changing sheets and administering medicines was no _ challenge _ , no _ fun _.

Miranda’s matron, Nurse Brenda Howard, had changed her mind.

Nurse Brenda was one of those women who seemed to be ageless. Her caramel brown hair was always pulled up in a lovely french twist, and it showed no flecks of gray yet. Her face had a few lines in it, but they only served to make her seem kind and wise. Miranda loved the woman even more, though, for the smile that came over her face whenever she talked about her Edith. There was never anything solid in the things that she said, but Miranda knew that Brenda and Edith...well, they weren’t just _good_ _friends_. 

Nurse Brenda was teaching Miranda what it meant to be compassionate, the harsh reality of what comfort looked like in the face of the horror and pain and fear that one could see in these wards. The sterility of the wards and the grief that she encountered had shocked Miranda, almost overwhelming her capacity for empathy. Nurse Brenda had helped her through, calming Miranda’s frayed nerves and soothing her distraught spirit.

Miranda had learned to read the older woman quite well in the few days they had spent together. She learned to take her cues from Brenda, when to step in and when to hold back. Miranda had no difficulty interpreting the sorrow on Brenda’s face as she looked down at the young man in the bed before them.

“Poor young man,” Brenda murmured as she checked the cast on his wrist. “He’s been through so much.”

Miranda crept forward, breathless in her awe. “That’s...isn’t that the Captain of the Guard?”

Brenda nodded. “Yes. The _ sczheildengoethe _ victim.” 

A shiver crept up Miranda’s spine. She knew very little about _ sczheildengoethe _ , her classes had devoted little time to the spell. _ Outlawed for use by law-abiding magicians for unnecessary cruelty and torture _. That was all she remembered. Frankly, it was enough.

Miranda checked the heart monitor that was attached to the Captain. “He came out of the healing trance fairly well, didn’t he?”

Brenda nodded. “Nurse Hicks--the Healer--was able to bring him out of it.” Her face darkened. “His poor family.”

“Why do you say that? He woke up, didn’t he? After all that time?”

“These past weeks have given his family time to prepare, time to say goodbye.” Brenda regarded Miranda solemnly.“I’m afraid this has given them false hope. He was so lucid last night, they’ve gotten it into their heads he might make it.” There were tears in Brenda’s eyes. 

Miranda moved to stand beside Brenda. “But...he survived this long?” She glanced down at the bed, taking in the fight of the Captain. He looked so young, younger than Miranda had ever imagined him. And almost...fragile. She backed away; it felt like an intrusion, to be here, to see him like this.

“He had a spell last night, dear,” Brenda said softly. “It happens often for _ sczheildengoethe _ victims. If they...if they survive the initial...casting, they often have spasms after. They...they, oh, Miranda.” Brenda’s hands smoothed back the blanket on Captain Thursday’s chest. “They rarely survive. It’s overwhelming to their senses. I spoke with Healer Hicks last night. It...it wasn’t good.” She sighed.

Miranda felt her heart sink. She’d seen the look on the Commander’s face before he had left. She knew how close he and the Captain were. Hope and worry had mingled there, but the hope had shined so bright it almost eclipsed the worry. To see that hope dashed…

“But...the Commander, he looked...he looked so happy?”

Brenda nodded, moving away from the bed to fold a blanket draped haphazardly over the armchair. “I know, dear. I know. Monica, she said she would speak with them today. Especially his parents. She wanted to give them some time.”

“Time to what?” Miranda stepped up to Brenda. “Time to think that everything is going to be okay?” This was wrong, all wrong. The Captain of the Guard...he wasn’t meant to be this helpless, wasn’t meant to be anyone’s sick child, wasn’t meant to have people _ worry _ over him. “That...that just seems cruel.”

“Miranda, Healer Hicks knows what she’s about.” Brenda pursed her lips and glanced up at the door. When it stayed shut, she continued in hushed tones. “You know the rumors around the Captain’s family. They’ve been through a lot. Monica wants to break this to them gently, wanted them to have some rest.”

Miranda opened her mouth to respond, but a sudden increase in the steady beeping of the Captain’s heart monitor interrupted her. Brenda she spun around, taking a quick step towards the bed.

“Captain Thursday,” she said. “Decided to join us again?”

Miranda peeked over Brenda’s shoulder. A pair of bright blue eyes stared back at them, huge and round and..._ frightened. _

“Who are you?” The young man’s voice was raspy from disuse, but Miranda could hear a touch of terror in the harsh whispers. It sounded so wrong, that thin voice coming from someone who the stories said was so strong, so powerful.

“Just two nurses, love.” Brenda took a step forward. “You’re at the John Radcliffe.”

Those blue eyes darted between the two of them, then to the door. “Where’s Peter?”

“Just popped down to the nurses’ station. Your father called.” Brenda took a step forward, motioning Miranda to come with her. “Why don’t you relax, dear? Nurse Lee, here, she’s training to be a Healer.”

Miranda straightened her shoulders. No matter what he looked like, this was the _ Captain _, and she had a job to do. He had done so much for her and her kind, now maybe she could repay some of what he had given her. Miranda stretched her hands out and took a few steps forward, slowly and calmly. She could easily read the distress coming off the Captain in waves. She needed to get him calmed down.

She had barely taken two steps before the Captain pushed himself up on his good arm and _ glared _ at her.

“Don’t. _ Touch _ . Me.” Miranda froze. His eyes were blazing now, fever-bright. Defensive anger leached into the air around him, and Mireanda could _ feel _ his fear and the desperate need to stay safe. “Get back.” His voice was stronger, commanding even. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving her face. “Get away.”

Miranda gave a small squeak and shuffled back. In the space of a few seconds, he had gone from weak, injured, and frightened to something out of the stories she had heard. Miranda had no trouble imagining how this man had built up the Guard and stood down the famed Octavia Stevens. He might not survive, the effects of the spell might pull him under, but there was no way in Hades that Miranda was taking one step closer to him right now.

“Miranda,” Brenda’s voice was calm--_ how was she that calm?-- _ “Why don’t you step out into the hallway and see if you can find Commander Jakes?”

Those fiery blue eyes flickered between the two of them, daring them to move closer. Miranda nodded and hastily backed away from the bed.

“Y-y-yes, ma’am.”

Brenda gave her a warm smile, seemingly unperturbed by the crackles of energy that surrounded the Captain.

Miranda pushed the door open, daring to take one last look over her shoulder. She found herself being watched, and she shuddered. It was as if she were the mouse and he the hawk ready to descend upon her.

She wasn’t to know that Captain Endeavour Thursday was watching her with the sharp eyes of a mouse who learned the hard way how to avoid the claws of the hawk. 

* * *

Jakes had just finished calming Fred Thursday down when he felt the warning tingle on his skin. Dev was waking up. Dev was waking up, in a hospital, with two strange nurses in the room. He had to go. _ Now _. 

“Sir? Dev, he’s...he’s waking up. I need to...I’ve got to be there. He’ll panic if he doesn’t know where he is.” Jakes tried to stay calm, tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. Last night had been something out of a nightmare, and Jakes wasn’t about to forget the way Dev had clung to him as he writhed in pain. He didn’t want to revisit that, didn’t want Dev to get lost in his memories. “I’ll see you soon, sir. I...I need to go.”

Somehow he managed to disentangle himself from Thursday, managed to hang the phone up. His blood was thrumming in his veins. _ Dev was already awake _ . He could feel the broken spell. Dev was awake. _ Dammit _. He turned to jog down the hall and nearly collided with a nurse.

“Excuse me--_ oh, _ Commander!” The nurse grabbed onto his arm before he could push by her. It was one of the nurses who had come into Dev’s room, the younger one. Jakes felt his heart stutter as he took in the frightened look in her eyes.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Jakes didn’t mean to tower over her, didn’t mean to make her take an involuntary step back. But he needed to know, didn’t have time to waste just _ standing _ here.

“The...the Captain woke up, sir. He...he won’t let us help him. He’s just...he…” she trailed off, but Jakes could read between the lines.

_ Shit. _ Dev was afraid.

Jakes pushed past the girl, barely sparing her a glance. He needed to get to Dev. _ Now _. 

Jakes all but sprinted down the hallway, vaguely aware of the young nurse trailing after him. He paused outside Dev’s room, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He could feel Dev’s fear, and the last thing Jakes wanted was to feed into that fear. If Dev sensed Jakes’ own fear, he would assume they were in danger. Jakes let the tension bleed out of his shoulders. He could hear the nurse fidgeting behind him; he ignored her. Dev, he had to calm Dev down. 

Cautiously, Jakes pushed open the door. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, wasn’t sure exactly what would have upset Dev--nor what would have put that wide-eyed fear into Nurse Lee’s expression.

_ Oh. _

Dev had forced himself up on one elbow, his chest heaving with exertion. His eyes were fixed on Nurse Howard, unwavering and almost menacing. To anyone else, Dev looked dangerous. In all honesty, he _ was _ dangerous. Dev was more powerful than he let on; the Chairman hadn’t sought him out just because he had a sad story to tell. Endeavour Thursday carried magic that could rival some of the best wizards, and he wielded it with a finesse that made everything look easy. Dev rarely let anyone see his true potential, but he knew well how to channel the magic within him to intimidate an enemy.

Jakes felt a slight pang of pity for the young nurse behind him. She clearly had some magical abilities, and as such, she could definitely feel the slight crackle of unstable magic in the air. In the half-light of the early morning, Dev’s eyes had an almost preternatural glow to them. The sickly shade of his skin and complete disarray of his red-gold curls didn’t help. He looked--to anyone else-- like a snake, coiled and ready to strike.

But Jakes knew him too well. Jakes could see the cracks in the facade, the fissures that spoke of defense rather than offense. Dev was terrified, not convinced that he was safe. He was posturing, throwing all of his energy into a show of colors and power in the desperate hope that he would be left alone. 

Jakes felt as if someone had stolen the air from his lungs. This was dangerous, _ too _dangerous. Dev was draining the little energy he had left. Worse than that, he was clearly close to panicking. 

That could be deadly.

“Dev.” Jakes slipped into the room, calling his friend’s name softly. “Dev, it’s alright.”

Dev’s gaze snapped to Jakes’. “Peter?”

“It’s alright, Dev.” Jakes walked slowly across the room. He didn’t take his eyes from Dev’s face, even when Dev glanced over Jakes’ shoulder at the nurse who followed him in. “You’re safe, and you’re in the hospital. These are just the nurses sent by the doctor.”

Dev’s shoulders softened a little, but his magic still swirled around him. “You’re okay?” His eyes roamed Jakes body, looking for signs of injury. _ Always more concerned about everyone else. _

“Shit, Dev.” Jakes made it to the side of the bed. He closed his eyes in frustration. “I’m fine. You’re the one...oh, _ hell _ .” Dev was staring at him, his magic still shimmering in the air like barely tangible electricity. Jakes gripped Dev’s shoulder. “Dev..Dev, you need to lay back down. You’re safe. I’m right here, and I promise you--I _ promise _ you, no one is going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

Dev stared at Jakes for a moment. Then his eyes flicked over to the two nurses hovering behind Jakes. Dev’s expression was suspicious, but thoughtful.

“You’re okay?” Dev repeated the question quietly. One hand--the one with a cast on it, clumsily sought out Jakes’ shoulder. Dev’s focus shifted back to Jakes as his hand connected with solid flesh and bone. “You’re real. You’re real, and they’re...nurses?”

Jakes nodded. “You’re in the Radcliffe, Dev. I promise.”

Dev heaved a shuddering breath and suddenly collapsed into the bed. Jakes let out a startled shout and lunged forwards. He managed to catch Dev and lower him gently back onto the bed.

“Dev? Dev! Dev, answer me!” Jakes’ shaking hands hovered over Endeavour’s body, panic making him unable to think clearly.

“I’m okay,” Dev whispered. His eyes remained closed for a few more seconds, then finally--_ finally _\--he stared up at Jakes. “I’m okay, Peter.” He offered Jakes a small smile. “I wasn’t sure...I’m okay now.”

Jakes let out a shaky breath. “God, Dev. Don’t scare me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Dev whispered. He glanced behind Jakes to the two nurses, directing his next apology to them. “I’m sorry. I can’t...I wasn’t sure who you were.” His voice was quiet, exhausted, but strong and stable. Jakes squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s alright, Dev. Hey, look at me.” Dev turned his eyes towards Jakes. “You can defend yourself. It’s alright. I was meant to be here, to make sure you didn’t panic.” He gave Dev an apologetic smile. “Your father called.”

“Dad?” Dev’s eyes lit up, the way they always did in the days since he’d gotten his family back. 

Jakes smile broadened. “He’s worried about you. Found out I wasn’t at home, and panicked.” 

“I’m fine,” Dev protested. He sounded so normal, so like his old self, that Jakes had to laugh.

“Of course you are, Dev. Of course you are.”

There was a slight sound from behind them, and Jakes glanced over his shoulder at the nurses. Both women were staring at them with sorrow in their eyes. Something inside Jakes burned at that look. It was full of pity and sympathy and he wanted _ none _ of it. They knew _ nothing _ of what the past month had been to Dev. _ Nothing _ of the fear and heartache that Jakes had lived with. Hell, they couldn’t even imagine the pain Dev had lived with, had _ survived _.

“I’ve got him.” Jakes growled. “I can manage now, thank you.” 

The older nurse nodded, not unkindly. “I’ll send Monica down to you when she awakens. Blessings on your recovery, Captain.” She turned to the younger woman. “Come along, Miranda.”

Jakes let out a steady breath once the door had shut behind them. He shouldn’t have snapped, not really, but something in the way they looked at him, with an expression like they _ knew _ how this would end, he couldn’t stand that look. He wasn’t giving up on Dev. Not now, not ever. 

Jakes turned back towards Dev, ready with a quip that was bound to make Dev smile. The words died on his tongue though when he caught sight of Dev’s face.

Dev was staring up at Jakes, his eyes wide with fear and shining with tears.

“Peter,” he whispered. “Peter...I’m scared.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is it with me and my random OC's? No clue.
> 
> *sigh* Well, I'm off to bed. I'm hoping to update _ Wait For Me (in Hell) _ next, then wrap back around to my Morse/Max fic, and then come back here. I have quite a juicy plan lined up for chapter 28--everything that was intended for this chapter but didn't make it because some _ nurses _ decided to take over the narrative.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you're still around <3 Comments make my day and please the Serotonin monster in my head. :)


	28. When Darkness Comes, and Pain is all Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve, to those who celebrate. Season's greetings and well wishes to all! <3
> 
> This uhhhhh this chapter is a little intense? There are direct references to Dev's intentional plummet down those stairs, which could be perceived as suicidal thoughts. But, there are hugs and happy tears too.

Fear wasn’t an emotion that Jake associated with Captain Endeavour Thursday. As a matter of fact, Jakes was quite certain that Dev had a rather marked _ absence _ of fear; he rushed headlong into danger far too often. Jakes had seen many emotions cross his friend’s face over the years, from anger to desperation to sorrow. Happiness too, rarely early on but much more present now that he had his family back. The intensity of the fear that lurked in Dev’s eyes now was something Jakes had never seen before--and something he wished to never see again.

“Dev?” Jakes leaned over Endeavour, one hand coming up to grip at Dev’s shoulder. “Dev, you don’t...you don’t have to be afraid. I’m right here, okay? They’re all dead. They can’t get to you, I promise.” Jakes’ expression darkened. “I won’t let them.”

Dev shook his head. His eyes closed for a moment, and his face crumpled in pain. “No...Peter, I...Peter, I _ remember_.” Dev opened his eyes, staring back up at Jakes with anguish in his eyes. “I remember _ everything_. Everything in that room. Every time they came at me.” Dev shuddered. “Everything.”

Jakes’ fingers tightened on Dev’s shoulder. _ God, _ did he wish he could hit something--anything. What they had done to Dev, how they had hurt him-- _ tortured him _ ...Revenge was rarely something that Jakes considered. Revenge could drive a man mad, steal his humanity and blacken his soul. But just this once, he wanted revenge. Wanted to see them _ bleed _ for what they had done to Dev. At least he had killed Kienan. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing his hand had driven the knife into Kienan, even if it was Endeavour’s face that haunted Jakes’ nightmares.

“Dev…” Jakes trailed off. He shook his head. “God, Dev. I’m so sorry. I wish...I wish I could take this from you, take it on myself.”

“No!” Dev twisted in Jakes’ grip. “No, Peter. Please…” Jakes felt a cold hand drape across his. “No. I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Let alone you.” 

“Alright, Dev. Alright. It’s okay.”

Dev stared at Jakes a moment longer. Finally he drew in a shuddering breath. “Peter...I just...I can’t get it out of my mind. The pain, the smell of that room. The...the blood draws were the worst. He...he enchanted the needle. Every time. I can still feel it, in my arm.” Dev shifted uncomfortably, his left arm twitching. 

Jakes laid one hand gently over the crook of his elbow. “Focus on me, Dev.” He squeezed lightly. “I’m real, I’m right here. He’s not. That...it’s gone, Dev.”

Dev nodded. “Thank you.” A shiver went through him, and he gasped. “Peter...when I was there. I was...I was okay with it, with what would happen. I knew. I knew there was only one way out. I knew...I knew I wasn’t going to make it.” 

Jakes tensed. “Dev--”

“Peter, please,” Dev whispered. “Please. I’ve...I’ve lived with this, alone, for...God, I don’t remember. I lost count of the days. I can’t...I can’t keep it in anymore. Please, Peter.”

Jakes’ heart was breaking. “Dev, it’s okay. I just...you don’t owe me anything. An explanation, anything.” He ran his hand up Dev’s arm gently. “But if you need to talk, I’m here to listen.”

Dev gave Jakes a small smile. “I’m so tired of being alone.”

“You’re not alone anymore. I’m right here.”

“Thank you.” Dev took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to try to focus. “I knew..._ dammit, _Peter.” His eyes flew open, and Jakes could see anger there. “I’m the Captain of the Guard. I knew. I knew what they were doing. I knew the chance...of me getting out of there. I knew...I knew I wasn’t going to make it.” Dev swallowed harshly, his jaw working against a whirlwind of emotions. “All I wanted...I just wanted to stop him. I didn’t...I didn’t want him to hurt you. Any of you. I just wanted to stop him. To stop the pain.”

Jakes sucked in a deep breath. He hoped Dev would never find out about that night at the house, that failed raid that almost killed him. At the very least, he hoped Dev wouldn’t find out about it until he was no longer in danger. The guilt would kill him.

“I hoped...I knew if I could...if I could goad them...into really hurting me...it would stop him.” Dev took a shaky breath. He refused to look at Jakes, and Jakes was grateful. He didn’t want to hear this, any of it. He knew Dev needed to say it, needed to get it out in the open, but _ God _, Jakes didn’t want to know. “I got free. Once. They...I tricked them into thinking they had me beat.” 

Despite himself, Jakes met Dev’s eyes. There was a glimmer of pride there. It was well warranted.

“Shit, Dev.” Jakes gaped at his friend. “You...you managed to _ fool _ them? You...Christ, how were you even thinking?” It didn’t matter _ when _ , the very fact that Dev had been able to think, to _ plan _ , while under the effects of _ sczheildengoethe...fuck._

Dev nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “I got free. I knew...I had to stop him, Peter. I don’t know...not sure what they had planned. But...he could have hurt you, all of you. Or worse.”

Jakes winced, remembering that day in the morgue, when he’d walked in on Dev--no, _ not _ Dev...Kienan--raising a scalpel behind Doctor DeBryn.

Dev’s smile dimmed, and his eyes seemed to glaze over. “I wanted it to be over, Peter. I found...I found those stairs. I...I wanted it to stop, all of it.” 

His casted hand twitched, and Jakes stared at him in horror. “Dev...Dev, did you…” Dev nodded. _ Oh God. _

“I didn’t...I didn’t mean to wake up.” Dev gave Jakes a rueful smile. “I guess my magic protected me. Just ended up a bit worse for wear. I had hoped...well, I hoped it might have...that it would have transferred, looked strange to whoever saw him.”

Jakes had to turn away, just for a moment. Had to hide the emotions that threatened to drown him. Dev had...he had thrown himself down those stairs _ on purpose _. He had put himself in a position of harm just to get through to them? Just to save them? Just to end the torment?

“Oh, Endeavour.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I had to, I had to try. I couldn’t...I couldn’t let them just _ win _.”

Jakes squeezed Dev’s arm again. “It’s...it’s alright. I remember. It happened at the station. You--he--_ dammit_.” Jakes paused, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. “Kienan, I guess. He just...keeled over. Claimed he’d been thrown down stairs. But when I talked to Max, he said there were no indications of any such injury, not on the night we found you-- _ him _ nor after.” Jakes allowed himself a small smile. “Max believed me that day. It wasn’t just me, then.”

Dev froze, his mouth gaping open in a wordless exclamation of surprise. “You...you didn’t..._ Peter_.”

“I didn’t believe everything was fine.” Jakes put all the conviction of those days behind his words. Dev needed to know that, needed to know that he hadn’t stopped trying to get to him. “I didn’t realize it was a shimmer, but I knew something was wrong. I tried, Dev. I tried, but I wasn’t...I couldn’t convince anyone else. I don’t think I was the only one, but no one wanted to...we just wanted you back. No one wanted to think we’d failed.”

Dev’s lips curled in a smile for a moment. Then his face crumpled in fear again.

“Peter.” Dev’s eyes bored holes into Jakes. “Peter, I’m...I was okay with it, then. I knew...I knew I wouldn’t make it.” His breaths were coming shorter and faster, and Jakes felt a cold pit of dread forming in his stomach. _ Was this another spasm? _ “I wasn’t...I wasn’t afraid then. I knew you--all of you-- would be safe. I wasn’t afraid...to die.”

Jakes’ grip tightened on Dev.

“I wasn’t...it was okay, then.” A tear slipped from the corner of Dev’s eye. “But now...Peter, I don’t...I don’t want to die. I just...I just got them back. My family. I just…I just remembered what it felt like, to have them again.” Dev’s chest was heaving in earnest now. “I haven’t...I haven’t even seen Joan and Sam. Said goodbye. Peter, I don’t want to die. I’m not...I just got them back. I’m not...I don’t want to go. Peter…”

Dev broke off in a gasp of pain. Jakes cursed. Dev moaned, his body going stiff as the first waves of pain crashed into him.

“Peter,” he gasped out. Dev’s hand found Jakes’, and he held it in a bruising grip. “Peter, I know. I know...why they looked like that, the nurses. I’m the Captain...of the Guard.” Dev’s words were punctuated with small whimpers of pain, and Jakes hated them, every one. “I _ know_. No one...no one survives this. I know. It’s just...time. Until one of these...pulls me under. I know. Peter…” Dev clenched his jaw. “I don’t want...I don’t want to die.”

Jakes gripped Dev’s hand, trying to fight through the fog of fear to find something, _ anything _ to say.

A calm, firm voice from the door spoke for him.

“You won’t, Captain.”

Jakes turned to see Monica standing at the door. She moved towards them with a fluid grace that was almost mesmerizing. She smiled down at Dev.

“May I help?”

Dev didn’t hesitate this time. He simply nodded.

Monica gave him a soft smile as she laid her hands on Dev’s arms. The effect was instantaneous: Dev’s eyes fluttered closed, and he relaxed back into the mattress. Monica’s brow wrinkled in concentration for a moment, before she glanced up at Jakes with a small smile. 

“Same as last night,” she murmured. Dev murmured a wordless question, and Monica huffed a small laugh. “Captain, you know a great many things about magic, but I think your knowledge of healing magic is a bit limited.”

Jakes winced as an old, long buried memory surfaced, one of blood and pain and fear. Dev managed to open his eyes, gifting them both with a weak glare.

“Captain, you are much stronger than most I know.” Monica’s hands moved back and forth over Dev, once or twice ghosting over Jakes’ hand and infusing him with a peaceful warmth. “If you were going to die, you would have already. No one makes it this long, this far, without having an incredible strength.”

Dev was following her motions, clearly still in pain, but in far less agony than before. 

Monica continued her ministrations, quietly explaining to Dev what she had told Jakes the night before. Jakes saw understanding dawn in his face, followed by a barely-there flicker of hope.

“There’s a chance, Captain,” Monica murmured. “And quite a good one at that.” She glanced up at Jakes. “We just...we need to find you other anchors. The Commander can’t do it all on his own.”

“I can do it,” Jakes protested. “I’ll be fine.”

“No!” Dev jerked, struggling to sit up. “Peter, you can’t. You have to get rest. I’ll--”

“Captain.” Monica’s voice was sharp. “Captain, lay back.” Dev complied, but his eyes were still mutinous. Monica shifted her gaze to Jakes. “Commander, you’ll have to let others step in.” She glanced between the two of them, finally settling on Dev. “That spiked your emotional distress.” She sighed. “Endeavour, you’re going to have to let someone else step in. You can’t do this on your own, without an anchor.”

“I can’t…” Dev’s chest was heaving again, panic playing across his face. “I can’t. There’s no one else. I don’t--”

“Endeavour.” All three of them jumped, turning in shock to stare at Win Thursday. She was standing just inside the door, her eyes fixed on her son. “Endeavour, you have me. Us.” 

Inspector Thursday slipped inside the room after his wife. Win walked to the side of Dev’s bed, and Jakes moved back far enough to allow her access. 

“Endeavour, love.” Win brushed her hand through Dev’s hair, smiling softly as he turned into her touch. “I want to help you. I...I lost you. For so long. So many years.” Her voice broke, and she bowed her head.

“Mum, I can’t...I don’t want to hurt you.” Dev’s words were quiet, gentle and full of regret and pain. “I don’t want you to see me...like that.” His eyes flickered up to his father. “Either of you.”

Inspector Thursday laid his hand over his son’s. “If that’s what it takes to keep you alive…” Thursday’s voice trailed off as his face darkened. “Son, please.”

Win glanced up at her husband, then back down to Dev. “Endeavour, do you remember London, all those years ago?” Dev nodded. “This is just like then. You were frightened then, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t help you at all. The only thing I could do was hold you. Let me...let me do that now. Please, Endeavour. We can’t lose you, not now, not when we can do something to help.”

Dev stared at her, then his father. “I...I don’t…” He turned to Jakes, his eyes pleading. “Peter, tell them. It’s...it’s not…I can’t control it. It hurts...so much. I can’t...”

“You don’t have to.” Jakes stepped up again. “Dev, you’re hurting them just by pushing them away.” He glanced at Win, an apology written on his face. “You didn’t see her, in the hall. That first time. Dev, she would have taken on the entire ward to get back to you. She could hear you, she knows what’s happening. The only thing any of us can do is to _ be here _. Let us, Dev. Let us help you.”

“Endeavour,” Win’s voice was pleading. She leaned over her son. “Endeavour, please. I want to do this, I want to be here for you. Please, son.”

Dev sucked in a shuddering breath. Then all at once he curled into his mother, his good hand clutching awkwardly at her blouse. 

“Mother,” he whispered. “Please…” He buried his face in her shoulder, his thin frame shaking as pent-up tears finally began to fall.

Jakes dashed his fist angrily at the traitorous tears that were threatening his composure. 

“You can do this, Captain.” Monica’s soothing voice washed over all of them, gentle and warm like a spring breeze. “Just not alone.”

Win’s hand cradled her son’s head tenderly. “You don’t have to be alone, Endeavour. Not again, not ever. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was fun. I should finish decorating now!  
From here on out, we should be leaving most of the angst behind and entering into pure fluff. Let me know if there's any particular fluffs that you want to see.
> 
> As always, I love hearing from you! :) Come wander over and chat with me on tumblr too, if you'd like. I'm there as @imaginationtherapy and @not-easy-being-green124 and I love to hear from everyone.


	29. When You're Weary, Feeling Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, all you need is a wool coat and a father's love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy guess who's back?!
> 
> No promises on the quality of this chapter...I wanted to get something up and Fred and Dev decided they needed to chat. Hopefully it will suffice :)

Fred Thursday knew what they others saw when they looked at the pale young man before him. They saw Captain Endeavour Thursday. They saw nerves of steel in a man who had faced down the Army of Morality, and won. They saw immense power, restrained behind a veneer of inexplicable kindness and gentleness. They saw intelligence, a man who was more than just a source of power and might. They saw a man who was good at his job--exceptionally so. They saw someone who could never crumble, never break, never succumb--someone who had achieved a nearly mythological status in the magical community. They saw someone who was wise beyond his years, kind despite the world’s unkindness, and stronger than most.

That wasn’t what Fred saw before him now.

He remembered, too, what he had seen for nearly three years when he looked into the pensive face of his bagman. He had seen a young man, abandoned and seemingly unloved by the world around him. He’d seen a stubborn, almost arrogant detective, determined to make everyone listen to him, believe his fantastic theories. He had seen a boy desperate to prove himself to the world and to a father who had refused to care for him. He had seen drive, anger, passion, and melancholy all wrapped into one slim figure.

He hadn’t been wrong, not really. But the truth was far more painful.

In many ways, those who saw Captain Thursday were right. Endeavour was all of that--and far more. And those lies Fred had believed for so long, there was some truth there as well. Dev had been desperate to prove himself, desperate to find his family again. There was an arrogance there, some of it born of the knowledge of who he really was, some of it an act put on like armour. But Fred Thursday saw none of that now, here, in this hospital room. He saw none of those battles, none of that magic. He just saw  _ his son. _ His first born child, lying there on that hospital bed, pale and unmoving.

Memories surrounded him, memories long buried beneath that malicious spell. Memories of many vigils sat like this, watching over Endeavour as he slept off fevers, broken bones, and nightmares. Memories of laying cool cloths over Dev’s forehead, smoothing back sweat-curled hair, murmuring soothing words when he woke panicked and confused. Fred had never been as comfortable nor as capable as Win when it came to nursing their children, but he refused to leave them when they needed him. 

A sharp pang of regret sliced through him as he wondered who had nursed Endeavour during those fifteen long years. Had anyone? Had there been anyone he could turn to, to help him when he was sick or injured? Guilt followed, burning like salt in an open wound, as he remembered the times  _ Morse _ had been injured or sick on the job. Certainly, he and Win had tried, but no more than they deemed acceptable for  _ just his bagman. _ God, how must even those scraps of kindness have felt to Endeavour?

Fred let his hand smooth back Dev’s curls, wishing desperately he could have those fifteen missing years back. Maybe then they wouldn’t be here, hoping and praying that somehow, Dev could hold on through this horrific pain and terror that he had been handed.

He was sleeping naturally now, at least, and they had let Win bring in a few blankets from home to replace those scratchy white hospital blankets. It would help calm him, orient him when he awoke, so Monica had said. Fred was just grateful he didn’t have to look at the way his son blended into the dead white of the room. 

They had set up a rotation amongst them--Win, Jakes and himself. Eventually, once the spasms began to decrease, they hoped to add at least Joan to the list, if not Sam. Dev wouldn’t permit either of his siblings in his room yet. He was still trying to protect them, keep them from the horror that had been his reality for weeks. That broke Fred, almost more than the pain etched across his son’s face--that he still had the strength to think of them, to try and keep them from knowing what it was like.

Monica had agreed, though not for the same reasons.  _ This is a dangerous time for him. He needs to be surrounded by people who can keep calm, and keep him calm. The younger ones...if he senses their discomfort, it could be fatal for him.  _

Fred scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to erase all of the ways this could go wrong from his mind. They had a chance--a good one, at that--but there was so much more stacked against them. So many ways that his son could still succumb to this evil. So many ways he could still lose his boy.

He had to smile at that. Imagine thinking of  _ The Captain of the Guard _ as a boy. But Endeavour still looked so much like a boy to Fred. He seemed to have never quite grown out of that long-limbed coltish look, never managed to shake that innocence on his face. At least, not in sleep. Fred had seen him in action, seen the way he could command the room, the sharp intensity that overcame his face when he was focused in on some thought. 

But here and now, he simply looked like Fred’s son, lost and hurting and confused. 

* * *

Endeavour stirred, a soft moan bringing Fred’s attention back to the lad. He held his breath, unease washing over him. The last several times Dev had woken, he had been disoriented. Monica had instructed them to help him to focus as quickly and as calmly as possible, but it was hard, so hard to see the usual intelligent glimmer in Dev’s eyes dimmed. 

Dev finally blinked his eyes open and Fred waited for his wandering gaze to settle. The lad’s brow creased in confusion as he took in the room. Fred could see the moment it all came back to him--the widening of his eyes, the sudden flinch from the bright lights, the way his breath hitched.

“It’s alright, Endeavour,” Fred murmured. He gently laid his hand over his son’s, letting his fingers curl around the lad’s bandaged wrist.

Dev turned to him and Fred felt as if the chair had collapsed under him. He knew that look. He’d seen it so many times--and forgotten it so many more. It was the look Dev gave him every single time they had met as no more than Inspector and bagman.

_ He thinks I don’t remember. _

The thought stole Fred’s breath, froze the blood in his veins. He couldn’t move.

Dev’s throat worked silently for a moment, before he managed to squeak out a plaintive “Sir?”

Fred shook his head. “No, Dev. Not for a while now, and never again, if I can help it.” Fred brushed his hand over his son’s hair.

Dev’s eyes widened.  _ “Dad?” _ When Fred nodded, Dev curled himself towards his father with a low sob.  _ “Dad. _ Oh God, I thought...I thought…”

“Shhh, it’s alright.” Fred leaned forward, wrapping one arm around his son’s back. “I know. I know, son.”

Suddenly Dev jerked back. “Mum? And Joanie? Do they--”

Fred smiled at him. “They all remember too.” He rubbed his hand in soothing circles on Dev’s back. “You’re safe, and you’re with family, alright?”

Dev stared at him for a moment. Then he gasped, tensing again.  _ “Peter. _ Peter was here. Is he...is he alright? Dad--”

“Endeavour.” Fred’s tone was gentle but firm, the voice he used to use when the kiddies were young. “Peter is just fine. You’re safe, but you need to stay calm, alright? You’ve...you’ve been through a lot. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Dev nodded, slowly. “I...I remember most of it. I just...I thought...oh,  _ Dad.” _

Dev buried his head in Fred’s shoulder with another sob. Fred pulled him close again, murmuring a soothing litany of  _ you’re safe _ and  _ I’m right here _ until Dev’s shoulders stopped trembling and his breathing was even once again. Finally, Dev pulled back, allowing Fred to help prop him up on the pillows. Endeavour refused to let go of Fred’s hand.

“I’m sorry. I just...when I wake up, I can’t...I’m never quite sure what’s real.” Dev took a deep breath. “It’s all muddled sometimes. And I can’t...I couldn’t…” His eyes closed, and Fred could see traces of the sorrow that had been his son’s constant companion for so long. “I could take all of this...everything that happened in that room. But I can’t…I can’t lose you all again.” 

Fred leaned over, waiting until Dev looked up at him before he spoke again. “Don’t you apologize. You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Endeavour.”

“Sometimes...when I was there...I couldn’t remember.” Dev took another shuddering breath, his fingers tightening around Fred’s hand. “I couldn’t remember if you...if you all would be waiting for me. It…” he shook his head, and Fred could see him retreating into himself. “It was a lot, sometimes.”

Fred ran his thumb over his son’s knuckles. “It was too much. You never…” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to reign in the emotions that threatened to break him. “None of this should have happened to you, son. None of it.”

Dev ducked his head. “They...they hurt you all, too.”

Fred sighed. “That they did, lad. But...ah, hell.” He took a deep breath and then forced a smile. “You’re safe now, with us.” He ran his hand up Dev’s arm. “How are you feeling?”

A nearly imperceptible shadow crossed Dev’s face--a tell that few others would have caught. Fred, though, he’d not forgotten a moment of the last three years, nor the many years before. He knew the exact tone of voice that would frame the next two words out of Dev’s mouth, and he knew them for the lie that they were.

“I’m fine.”

Fred raised his eyebrows. “That barely worked when I thought you were naught but my bagman. It’s most certainly not going to work now that I know you’re my son. Try again.”

Dev stared at him for a moment, before glancing down at his hands. “I don’t...I can’t...It’s  _ hard _ .” He looked back up at Fred, and there were tears in his eyes. 

Fred gave him a sad smile. Some habits were hard to break. The lad had spent so many hours keeping to himself, concealing his pain from a family that couldn’t remember him. No wonder he found it hard to start now.

“Alright, it’s alright. How about I ask the questions, then?” Dev gave a short nod. “Are you in any pain?”

Dev gave a jerky nod.

Fred tried not to flinch from that.  _ God. _ “Do you need a Healer?”

“No.” Dev stared at their hands for a moment. “It’s...it doesn’t really go away, the pain. Not all of it.” He glanced back up at Fred, an earnest look in his eye. “Monica says it will, eventually. But for now it’s just...there.” He shifted a bit, wincing as he did so. “It’s not all that bad if I don’t move much.”

“It’s bad enough.” Any pain was too much pain, in Fred’s eyes.

Dev shook his head. “The spasms are the worst. Then it's everywhere, and I can’t get away from it. This...it’s like an ache, when you’ve moved too many file boxes in one day. Just...a little sharper.” He ducked his head. “Makes me a little sick. But I’d rather this than…” Dev’s eyes flitted over his father’s face, and whatever he saw there made him flinch. “No, it’s...I’m alright, Dad. Really. I shouldn’t...I don’t want to worry you.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Fred laid one hand on Dev’s shoulder. The lad was drawing back in on himself, trying to hide away. “You can’t keep this to yourself, Endeavour. Please, don’t.” 

_ Hiding, it takes too much of his energy, _ Monica had said.  _ He needs to be honest, that’s the hardest part. He needs to let himself hurt, let others see that hurt.  _

The trouble was, fifteen years of hiding from his family had taught him too well how to keep things where no one could see them.

Dev stared at the quilt on his lap, his fingers nervously tracing the stitching.

“I tried not to let him see.”  _ Zorander. _ “I didn’t want to be weak.” Blue eyes flicked up to meet Fred’s. “I don’t want to hurt you, or mum. Peter...he’s seen me at my worst, these past ten years.” Dev swallowed, eyes retreating back to the safety of the browns and reds. “You’ve all...you’ve seen enough.”

Fred sighed. “Endeavour...lad, you were fourteen when you caught a fever. I wonder if you would remember,” Fred murmured. Dev froze. “You were delirious most of the ride to the hospital, seeing things we couldn’t see and scared half to death. We almost...we almost lost you that night.” The memory was still fresh, somehow. The way Dev had screamed, terrified of whatever nightmares he could see, it was still embedded in Fred’s memory. “Your mother never cried once, not while she was with you. You needed her, and she was strong for you.” Dev was staring at him now, eyes wide. “We couldn’t be there for you for so long. It would...It would hurt more for you...if you didn’t...ah, God.” 

Fred scrubbed his free hand over his face. He wasn’t much good at this, never had been. Strong, solid, stoic, that was Old Man Thursday. God, how had he ever managed to raise  _ three children? _

_ Talk to me, _ he wanted to say. But he couldn’t force the words out, and he couldn’t ask Dev to be any less than what the years had made him. They had him back, but those missing years had changed him, shaped him into who he was. Hiding, protecting those around him, it was something he had learned--but it was also something he came by naturally. He got it from Fred, himself. Even at ten, he had tried to hide his own fears from the little ones. That he was still trying now should be no surprise.

“My arms.” Dev’s words were soft, almost impossible to hear. “They’re the worst.” Dev glanced up at Fred. “He enchanted the needle for the blood draws and I guess...arms are easy.” Dev gave Fred a weak smile. “They don’t really get better, they just  _ ache _ all the time.”

Fred jerked back. God, he’d been touching Dev’s arms. “Dammit, Endeavour, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t--”

_ “No!” _ Dev jerked sideways, wincing as he tried to chase Fred’s hands across the bed. There was a tinge of terror in his face. “Please--don’t…don’t let go. Please.”

Fred canted his head to the side. Dev’s fingers twitched, a silent plea that Fred couldn’t ignore. He wrapped Dev’s hand in his own. 

“When I was there...I wanted...the only time they came near me, they hurt me.” Dev blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “I just wished...I wanted...I wanted one touch…” his voice dropped off to a whisper, “...that didn’t hurt.”

There wasn’t a part of Fred Thursday that didn’t ache to hear those words. The sorrow and shame that laced them felt like acid in the gaping wounds the past weeks had torn in his soul.

Dev turned his head away, eyes closing as he clearly mistook Fred’s silence for judgement. 

“I know it’s...ridiculous. I’m...I’m the Captain of the Guard.” His voice was soft, words tinged with something far too brittle for Fred’s liking. “I’m supposed to be the strong one, and all...all I wanted...I just...God, I just wanted someone to be  _ kind.” _

“Endeavour…”

“I wanted...do you remember when I was little?” Dev met Fred’s eyes again, and there was an honesty in them that took Fred’s breath away. “I used to...I used to hide in your coat, when I was afraid?”

Fred laughed at that, he couldn’t help it.  _ Did he remember? _ How could he ever forget. He couldn’t remember when it had first started, what had frightened little Dev that first time. But Dev had come running to him, slipped under the hem of Fred’s long coat. He had buried his face in Fred’s trousers, pulling the coat around him so that he couldn’t see the rest of the world.

“I couldn’t ever forget that,” Fred murmured. He ran his hand gently up Dev’s arm.

Dev gave him a half smile. “I wanted...I wanted to hide...in your coat.” The smile suddenly vanished, replaced with a sob. “I...God, Dad, I couldn’t...I just wanted to hide. I didn’t...I couldn’t do anything. They just...they just  _ came _ at me.” His words were coming faster, almost frantic. “I couldn’t  _ move. _ I just...I wanted to curl away from them, to get away. I didn’t even...I didn’t...Dad, I couldn’t--”

“Dev--son, it’s alright. Dev, can you--”

Dev’s head rocked back and forth. “No, you don’t...I wanted to  _ hide. _ Like a little kid.” There was a panicked sort of anguish on Dev’s face, and Fred had the sickening feeling a spasm was building. “Me, the Captain of the Guard. I wanted….I wanted to hide in...I wanted...Dad...oh, God, Dad it  _ hurts. _ ”

Dev was curling towards him then, pain clear on his face.

Fred called out to the guards outside the door--barely even registering his own words in his sudden panic.

“Endeavour, it’s alright, son. It’s--”

_ “Dad.” _ Dev’s voice was so small, so heartbroken and  _ lost. _ “Dad...I don’t...don’t leave me. Please.” His face was turned into the pillow, one fist clenched into the sheets. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t...I’m not strong enough. I can’t... _ help me.” _

The years melted away in that moment--the heartache and the loss and the growth all vanished, leaving Fred faced with  _ his son _ in front of him. His son, the one who always hid in his coat. His son, the sensitive soul who rescued wandering butterflies and played piano to soothe his little sister to sleep.  _ His son. _

What else could he do, but to curl one arm under Dev’s shoulders and pull him close?

“Endeavour, son, look at me, please.” Fred’s voice was rough, but he didn’t bother disguising his tears. There was no weakness here, not in this. Dev needed to know that, needed to know that he wasn’t weak or foolish just because he had wanted some fragment of comfort in that horror.

Dev’s hand curled into Fred’s shirt. “Dad?” He peered up at Fred, eyes widening in shock. “You’re...here.”

“This is real, son.” Dev stiffened again, another spasm of pain starting to wash over him. Fred ran his hand through Dev’s hair and kept talking. “You mother...the only thing she’s wanted to do was hold you, from the moment we got you back. I carried you out of that hellish place, didn’t want to put you down. You’re not...this isn’t weakness, Endeavour. This is  _ family.” _

Dev’s face contorted with pain. He curled towards Fred with a small whimper. 

“Please...don’t let me go.”

“I won’t, Dev.” Fred pulled the lad closer to him, wrapped his arms tighter around Dev’s back. “I won’t let you go, not until you can walk out of here on your own. You...God, Endeavour.” Fred bowed his head, ignoring the tears that started to fall. “I’m so glad we got you back.”

“I’m...not alone...anymore…” Devs’ words were faint, gritted out between small gasps of pain, but there was a strength in them that hadn’t been there moments ago.

“No. And you won’t be, not again.” It was a vow, one that Fred repeated to himself every day since they’d gotten him back. God help anyone who tried to separate them again; he would tear them to bits. “You don’t...you don’t have to do this alone, Endeavour. We...all of us...we’re here. Right here. I promise you, we won’t leave you.”

Dev curled himself closer to Fred. “Thank you...God, Dad... _ thank you.” _

Monica found them a few minutes later--Dev clinging to his father, and Fred rubbing his back as if he were nothing more than a sick child. She didn’t tell them, not until much later, that Dev’s pain had been  _ very _ bad that time around. But he’d been almost completely calm when she’d reached them. 

It was as if he’d managed to hide himself away from the fears and confusion that plagued him during most spasms.

As if there was a rough wool coat thrown over him, protecting him, like a shield that smelled faintly of tobacco and vanilla candles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, ho!  
So...sorry for the hiatus. Uhhhhh...yeah, my body has been trying to kill me for two months, so that's been fun. Short version: chronic pain is a bitch and I probably have fibromyalgia. YAY. *eye roll* It's been a longggg start to 2020.
> 
> Anyhow, I'm _ back _, though I'm not sure how regular I'll be. Writing has been a bit difficult, since I've been using all of my energy on pure survival. I *think* that things are looking up now, and if that continues, I might be able to get some of these WIPs cleaned up. (and maybe finish some of the like... 5 WIPS i started since the last time I saw y'all...)
> 
> I missed you all, and I'm sorry to have left for so long. Comments are appreciated...I'm pretty low on serotonin. Love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Rusty Cage by Johnny Cash. Its a wierd, spooky song, and rather sets the tone for this disaster of a fic.
> 
> If you happen to enjoy this, I would love comments. They feed the Writing Monster and also brighten the twilight that is my mental state at the moment (well, apparently someone is stuck in Spooky Land).
> 
> Trigger Warnings: As I said, this is pretty dark. Morse struggles against an unknown, and is willing to die in order to save his friends and family. At various places in this fic, he goes so far as to intentionally harm himself and is willing to goad his captors into killing him if it will save them. He's not suicidal in a depressive way, but in a self-sacrificial way. Just a heads up that that's in here! Feel free to comment if you have specific questions.


End file.
